


In The Company Of Wolves

by artificial_ink



Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, Arranged Marriage, Blacksmith!Brock Rumlow, F/M, Intrigued Darcy Lewis, Knights - Freeform, Overprotective Steve and Bucky, Period-Typical Sexism, Sweaty Brock Rumlow, The Honorable Lady Darcy, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8449807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificial_ink/pseuds/artificial_ink
Summary: It seemed inevitable that Darcy would be married off at the end of this summer after she visited her grandmother, but she didn't realize the new blacksmith down the path was a worthwhile sight.





	1. What A Deep Voice You Have

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been thinking about doing for a while but hadn't had steam until now. I'm going to attempt to continue writing this for NaNoWriMo but I've had this first part written up for a couple months.  
> It's a little rougher than I'd like but I really do want to post something so I don't feel like a dead writer.  
> Hope you guys enjoy my ridiculous historical(ish), supernatural romance!
> 
> Title and inspiration from Angela Carter's short story, Company of Wolves. No copyright infringement intended.

A strange sensation gripped Darcy’s chest as she moved with the sway of the horse. Each step forward was a contradiction of sorts. Joy filled Darcy at the thought of being reunited with her grandmother and an entire summer to roam the countryside, devoid of any and all annoying chaperones. True freedom awaited ahead and yet there was still a stone of dread burning in her gut. It ate at her nerves as the sun slowly moved above her, for each minute that passed was just one looming moment closer to her inevitable marriage. Just that much closer till she was the wife if Ian Boothby. 

That very thought caused disgust to drip down her spine. Although it was a warm day, she shivered and closed her eyes tight, as if she could somehow will herself awake from this nightmare. Dread tightened around her throat every time she thought about being married to Ian Boothby, until she didn’t think she could breathe. While Ian had been charming during all their interactions, Darcy could tell it was all perfectly honed manners. There was nothing in the littlest of his touches or the timbre of his voice that elicited any real reaction from her. She remembered listening to her half sisters discussing their own romances during late nights by dimming fireplaces. All they could talk of were shivers down spines, twisting insides and spinning rooms. Wasn’t that what love was? Or lust at the very least? Darcy hadn’t the pleasure of experiencing either and she was almost 25. 

But of course, her father said yes to Ian’s father’s proposal without consulting her. She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted that Ian had gotten his father to do the asking instead of doing it himself. Shouldn’t a man in love not let anything stand in his way and push aside all niceties? 

Then again, there was no room for love in the marriages of well bred youth. 

It had been too good of an offer for her father to refuse. As the youngest and strangest of three daughters, it did not look like Darcy would ever have an offer of marriage. Her birthday was in a month and she was practically an old maid if everyone else was to be believed. Darcy had always known she would not be nearly as lucky as her elder half sisters, Peggy and Jane. Both had married for love at acceptable ages and were happy beyond content. Both were also the most beautiful and brilliant women Darcy had ever known. They radiated like sunlight and no one could take their eyes off the women whenever they entered a room. Darcy simply glistened like a young, sweaty boy.  

“Come now, you look so gloomy. I had thought you would be happy to see your grandmother and those fairies you’re so convinced that live in these forests,” Sir James ‘Bucky’ Barnes teased, slowing his horse so that he was right next to Darcy. His comment made her smile despite herself.

“You know very well what has my heart so heavy,” chided Darcy and there was a hint of pity in Bucky’s eyes. She knew he meant no ill and still the action prickled at Darcy’s pride. “Also, fairies _do_ live in these forests. I saw them when I was little.”

“Do you intend to asks these creatures to save you from an arranged marriage?” asked Bucky lightly, raising an eyebrow. Darcy was preparing a rather biting answer when Steve interjected. 

“This Boothby fellow seems a good match for you,” Sir Steven Rogers, Peggy’s husband and Darcy’s brother by law began to explain and it sounded very much like he was just repeating her father’s words. “He is loyal, kind hearted and-”

" _Boring_ ,” Darcy finished, causing Steve to sigh and Bucky to laugh.

“I am sorry but I must agree,” Bucky snickered, earning a glare from Steve. “I had always hoped that Darcy would marry a charming man from our battalion.”

“My father obviously feels there are too many soldiers married into the family,” shrugged Darcy, thinking back on Jane’s new husband, Thor. While not in Steve’s battalion, he was still one of the King’s trusted captains and fought gallantly in the War of the Roses, despite being a foreign soldier.  “Though, I had always hoped you, Bucky, would settle down long enough to consider my offer seriously.”

“An offer of marriage due to distress is not one I would consider, my dearest. The fact I see you as more of a sister, also weighs into that decision.”

“You should be so lucky as to be my husband,” Darcy stated haughtily and Bucky barked out a laugh.

“As Ian will be once you give him the chance,” Steve insisted. Darcy caught Bucky rolling his eyes just as she was.

“Please. My father is not around. You can voice your opinion freely, you know?” pleaded Darcy. She knew that Steve was more than capable of his own opinions, though nowadays, he seemed to be trying to be more diplomatic. Father had never truly liked Steve and for some unknown reason, the captain was now trying to earn some goodwill. 

“It would be foolish of me to disagree that his match is a sound one, politically. The Boothby’s own a large portion of land and have been in good standing with our King’s family for generations. You know well that your father has been at odds with the King as of late. For the safety of his holdings and his daughters, he must assert his support,” Steve said and Darcy yawned at his explanation. She decided that was the closest Steve would come to defying her father these days. Resigning herself to this horrid fate, Darcy looked away only to be surprised by the clearing of Steve’s throat.

“And perhaps I do not entirely agree with your father’s opinion that Ian is a suitable match for your wily personality but what can I do about it? Living on your own in the village as a healer is perhaps a lofty goal for a woman of your blood but there are other options. I am certainly not suggesting that you find an even better match and alliance. One that your father could not deny. And I am certainly not going to introduce Boothby to Stark during your visit away.”

Each word made Darcy smile until her grin hurt her cheeks. That was the Steve that taught Darcy how to tussle and sneak around the castle without the servants knowing what mischief she was up to until it was over. Although Steve appeared to be the exemplary soldier, Peggy had fallen in love with him for being able to take matters into his own hands and seeking out justice even when he disagreed with the King. He’d often gallop along the line of treason and undeniable morality. Obviously, he did not agree with this betrothal but it was up to Darcy to come up with a plan so as not to implicate him. Which was all fine with her. Darcy was not afraid of her father’s ire and was certainly fine bearing the brunt of it. 

“Yes, well good luck finding a suitor around here that doesn't herd goats for a living,” Bucky snorted, dampening Darcy’s hope. “Now don’t give me that face. You know as well as I do that all the men in this hamlet are either married, old or not yet fifteen. Besides, goats and sheep are the main source of income in these parts. Do you really want to be the wife of a goat herder?”

“It would be better than the wife of a spineless git,” huffed Darcy, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. Not wanting to reveal any sign of weakness, Darcy pulled up the hood of her scarlet cloak and let it fall just below her brow as she ignored Steve’s reminder to watch her language. Her cloak was a deep shade with a silver wolf’s head clasp and reached just above her ankles when standing. Inside of the cloak, embroidered on the lining sitting between her shoulders, were two wolves, long bodies entwined and knotted. Each had either the moon or sun in their jaws. The cloak was her most valuable possession. Also, it was the only connection Darcy had left of her mother, other than her grandmother of course. The only memories she had of her mother were the stories her grandmother told her. 

While Darcy cherished every summer she was allowed to spend with her grandmother, it pained her to know that this would likely be the last. Again, she cursed Ian Boothby for ever setting sights on her and deciding that she was meant to be the love of his life. All of her life, Darcy had thought she was meant for something more than to live as chattel. Her sisters had all proven such for themselves but it seemed that Darcy could not. There were more than enough healers in their village and Darcy’s talents had yet to surpass any of them. 

“That is the only reason father ever let me come back to visit with grandmother ever since turning fourteen. It was because he knew there would be no man to steal me away.”

“And if there were, he would have been scared off anyway by your grandparents,” Bucky helpfully pointed out, causing Darcy to roll her eyes. While her grandmother was revered in the village for knowledge of healing and the old ways, there was still a hint of fear. It was never enough fear to cause disdain and hatred but just enough to keep the villagers away unless she was needed. Her grandfather, before he disappeared, was a kind, educated man but often kept to himself. Also, he was the owner of a rage when provoked and so many avoided to tempt it. For some reason, both had spread onto Darcy’s reputation. Not that many ever bothered to learn much about her but that was one of the reasons why Darcy enjoyed her stays in the summer. She was free to go where she wanted without any fear. 

“Your grandfather was a fearsome man to behold. Or so the tales say,” Steve said lightly, though curiosity stained his tone. 

“Only when provoked,” corrected Darcy. “He was kind and caring. Loved grandmother and I beyond belief.”

“No one ever found him after all these years? At least a hint of him?” asked Bucky lightly. With a sigh, Darcy closed her eyes and felt the familiar, yet now dulled pain at the memory. 

“Not even a body. Only a torn and bloody shirt. Everyone believes that wolf devoured him, bones and all,” Darcy’s voice wavered. Just after her 14th birthday, a wolf had begun to attack the village herds and her grandfather had been the final victim before the beast moved on. She’d been the very one to find the very shirt she helped sew for him, ripped, bloodied and muddied.  

“Are you sure you want to stay here alone? I’m certain that Steve can do without me if you wished for me to stay this summer,” Bucky offered, his concern catching Darcy by surprise. “Your grandmother must have a cot I can set by the fire.”

“Unless you intend to marry me, I think that would be quite untoward. Besides, there hasn’t been a wolf attack since then. I shall be fine as I always have,” Darcy insisted calmly after taking a long moment to consider her answer. Although she was touched by Bucky’s concern, she felt it was a tad misplaced. There was nothing in these forests that scared her. Besides, even _if_ something happened, Bucky had been the one to teach her to wield a dagger, Steve taught her to tussle and Peggy taught her how to shoot an arrow. She was very capable .

Yet, just as she decided to remind Bucky of these facts, Darcy practically swallowed her tongue. Upon turning the bend in the road, they reached an abandoned hut. It marked the last house on this path before reaching her grandmother.  

Except this time, the little round hut was far from abandoned. All the damage to the thatched roof and the rot to the walls had been patched. An extended roof had even been built to cover the beginnings of what looked to be a blacksmith’s shop. The forge was not burning but there were still tools and half finished swords and shields hanging about. Yet, that did not hold Darcy’s attention for long. 

In front of the house, a behemoth chopped wood, not at all bothered by the sweat dripping off his half naked and war scarred body. Sunlight glinted off his muscles, accentuating the way his back and arms rippled at each heave. But even _that_ wasn’t the thing that held Darcy’s eye. It was the blue colored design on his back. Although, he was at a distance and it appeared that some of it had been burned off, there was no mistaking the two entwined wolves with a moon and sun in each jaw. Darcy remembered her stepmother once telling her a story of fierce warriors who pricked their skin with permanent blue dyed designs. 

A startled gasp left her mouth as she stopped her mount. At both of her sides, Bucky and Steve stiffened but mistook her gasp as one of virgin reservation. The closest to the stranger and in her line of vision was Bucky. From the look on his face, Darcy could tell he was debating whether or not he should sleep in her grandmother’s doorway. As her grandmother was but a five minute trot from this point, the rugged gentleman would obviously have no trouble popping in on his neighbors for daily visits. The thought brought a smile to Darcy’s face when she knew it shouldn’t. Another thought crossed her mind as she blatantly stared at the man’s well muscled figure. He had the body of a warrior, not of a small village blacksmith. At least, she assumed such. She hadn’t seen many blacksmiths but she had on many occasions watched the soldiers and knights train. 

It did not take long for the man to realize he was being watched. There was tension forming between his shoulder blades but he still chopped three more logs before turning around. As he did so, Darcy lowered her hood and caught his eye. She was unable to hide her smile until he saw it.  

Standing up straighter, the man seemed to take in Darcy’s sudden appearance with interest. His eyes trailed up from the cloak around her shoulders and stayed on her face, a satisfied smile settling on his lips. Then they trailed down her body slowly before moving back up. Tiny bumps prickled her skin as if she could feel his gaze caressing her body. The glowers from Steve and Bucky did not stop the man’s obvious and almost offensive scrutiny.   

“Hullo there! I did not think this home was occupied. We have traveled his route every summer for five years now,” Steve called out, appearing friendly but his hand still gripped the hilt of the sword at his side. 

“I just moved in three weeks ago at the suggestion of the kind French woman who lives down this path. Nursed me to health and offered this place as a respite for the continuation of my recovery,” explained the man in a rough, deep voice that caused shivers to run down Darcy’s spine. That did not go unnoticed by Bucky, whose brow furrowed.  

“What did you have? Not the plague, I hope,” teased Steve with a more playful tone. He moved to slide off his horse and walked towards the other man, arm up and fingers raising the visor to his missing helmet- a greeting reserved for other knights. Despite his open manner, Darcy knew Steve was ready for a strike if need be.

“No. Wolf attack,” shrugged the stranger, raising his arm to offer the same greeting. When catching himself, he ended up using his arm to wipe away the sweat on his brow instead. His eyes moved back to Darcy for a brief moment, as if to gauge her reaction, though she could not think of why he’d want to see it. Steve finally reached the man and waited for a greeting befitting someone of a lower station. While Steve had never been one to really care about the proper greetings shared between the lower and upper classes, it was clear to Darcy it was a test to see what this stranger’s gut reaction would be. Eventually, the man bowed in front of Steve, but kept his gaze on Darcy, as if to direct the polite behavior towards her only. 

“Strange to hear of a wolf attack so late in spring,” Bucky said, also sliding off his horse but not before sending Darcy a look that clearly stated she should not even entertain the notion of following suit. The only revenge she could get at that was to roll her eyes at his retreating back. “They usually try their luck with livestock. Humans hardly ever get cornered.”

“Perhaps it was an especially difficult winter?” mused the stranger, not really giving much thought to it. He shrugged and Darcy’s eyes fell to the scarred bite marks on his left shoulder. The puckered white scars looked rather healed for a bite mark from three weeks ago, especially given the depth it must have been to have caused such a prominent scar. 

“What is your name, blacksmith?” Bucky asked and the man raised a somewhat condescending eyebrow and smirk to match the question’s tone.

“Brock,” the man offered, not bothered by the long pause as Bucky and Steve waited for more. 

“I am Sir Steven Rogers and this is Sir James Barnes. Knights of our good King Edward,” Steve declared once it was clear Brock would not offer his full title. The mention of the King made Brock stiffen but he forced himself to relax. Looking back up to Darcy, he sent her a grin that made her think back on the stories her grandmother told her about wolves hiding in forests just waiting to devour little girls whole. Good thing she wasn’t a little girl anymore. 

“And the beautiful maiden you are escorting?” Brock asked, this time causing Steve’s and Bucky’s backs to stiffen. Both men began to move their hands towards the hilts at their hips but stopped themselves halfway. 

“This maiden’s name is Darcy,” stated Darcy matter-of-factly. Her answer made Brock’s grin grow even wider. “And that kind Frenchwoman is my grandmother. I have come to visit her before I am to be sold to one of the King’s favourite idiots.” 

“Darcy-” Bucky sighed in exasperation at her bluntness when he and Steve were trying to gauge the situation with their brooding. It didn’t matter to Darcy whether or not Brock meant any ill toward her over that bit of information. Although the man boasted some impressive muscles, she wasn’t much intimidated by him. Though, perhaps that was foolishness on her part?

“Favorite idiots? A shame,” Brock lamented sincerely, his grin dimming and Darcy was pleased she could not find a hint of pity in the man’s reaction, just disappointment and a dash of anger. It mirrored her quite well. 

“Yes, but it is the duty of a Baron’s daughter,” Steve said, stepping to the side so that he was directly in Brock’s line of vision to Darcy. The pursed lips Brock gave Steve challenged that statement. 

“What Steve is trying to say is that you shouldn’t get any naughty thoughts in your head about me. Given that you are so close to my grandmother’s home. Only gentlemanly behavior is to be expected,” Darcy said, smiling because even if she couldn’t see it, the twitching of Steve’s sword hand meant he had the most amusing look of irritation on his face. 

“For you, I will endeavor to try my hardest,” swore Brock, bowing slightly in a manner that towards anyone else would be mocking but when directed at Darcy, somehow had the utmost of respect. “Though, I cannot make any true promises.” 

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Bucky said. “In fact you can start by putting on your shirt. Tis only polite in front of the lady.” 

“The lady doesn’t mind,” Darcy blurted, cheeks blooming with red as Brock winked at her, his lips twisting with self-assurance. That sort of arrogant expression normally caused irritation to swell inside of her without fail. Every knight or squire that thought he could woo Darcy with just a kind word and spared glance had always been met with Darcy’s ire. Yet somehow, no words were sharpening her tongue now. This sudden development caused Darcy’s eyes to widen as the sensation of fluttering dragonflies floated in her stomach and chest. All she could do was take in Brock’s glistening muscles, flexing ever so slightly under her appraisal while he leaned down and picked the axe back up, as well as placing another log on the chopping block. Licking her lips, Darcy swallowed and realized that her throat had dried. Even if she could come up with a quick retort, she wasn’t sure she could utter it. 

“It of no consequence if the lady minds,” Steve spoke up after clearing his throat, a little uncomfortable at the display in front of him. When he was uneasy, Steve often bumbled over his words and had done so many times when first meeting Peggy. The stuttering had gotten much better over the years, though. Still, he often would say something to accidentally offend the party he wished to protect or compliment. In Darcy’s opinion, she thought what she felt certainly did matter. Especially since it was her life being bartered away. Steve had inadvertently sounded just like her father when telling Darcy that she was going to marry and that was final. “The two knights with swords? We mind. Though it is no longer any matter, for we will be on our way.”

“If I were you, blacksmith, I’d be careful about what little old French women you associate with till the leaves start to fall,” Bucky warned as he and Steve made their ways back to the horses. When their backs had turned, Brock curled his lip but said nothing. He rolled his shoulders and in one fluid, graceful motion, turned to lift the axe above his head and bring it down. The log splintered from the force and shards flew in various directions. At the heavy thunk of the axe hitting the chopping block, Steve and Bucky turned to look at Brock for any signs of danger. All they saw was a forced smile as Brock placed another log into place. Once the knights mounted their horses, they urged the nervous beasts forward. 

Reluctantly, Darcy followed suit, sparing a glance back at Brock and the design on his back that filled her with a thousand questions but also a slight pounding in her chest. This summer would be different from her previous visits for numerous reasons but there were now a few newer ones added to her list. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as terrible as she thought, inching towards the inevitable. 


	2. What Big Teeth You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't posted anything/ really written anything for a while and the writer's block has been frustrating. Ended up going back to this story, which had a couple more chapters written and I've cleaned it up and decided to post! I really do want to finish this story but I'm warning you guys, my muses have been wilting these past couple years. Kind of feel like I'm loosing my identity as a writer but I'm also trying not to panic.  
> I'll do my best with this since I love Darcy/Brock. Also, historical romances are kind of my jam and I'm done with Courtly Matters so I need another one to write. As a warning, there may be long pauses between chapters though I'm gonna post what I have as regularly as I can.  
> Love you guys tho! Thanks for anyone who read this before, kudos, commented or bookmarked <3 Thanks for bearing with me. 
> 
> Translation note: I have not added the translation because SUSPENSE!

Night fell in a tranquil manner as it always did at grandmother’s. The crackling of the fire and the calm humming of grandmother as she cooked, lulled Darcy into a peaceful haze. The only thing that dared to threaten it were the furrows and frowns that Bucky shared with Steve. The encounter with the blacksmith had shaken their faith in what all had assumed with be Darcy’s final summer of ingenuous freedom. Honestly, Darcy was more annoyed that they were putting so much thought into it. Did they have nothing better to do than consider the fate of her virtue? It was better in her hands than her father’s. That was for certain. 

When they first arrived at grandmother’s cottage, they admired the small but luxurious home. It was a home with two floors and a thatched roof. An oddity for a woman of grandmother’s means but when Darcy’s father had married her mother, he had a new home built for his by-law parents. Although a generous and kind gesture, Darcy wondered if it had been simply to give her grandparents less of a reason to leave the small village and find a home closer to their daughter. 

As each year passed, Darcy became less fond of her father. When she was a little girl, she had adored her father and tried to follow him everywhere but he simply kissed her on the top of her head and sent her back to her nurse. After her little brother, Godfrey, was born, she didn’t even get the courtesy of a kiss. Instead, she began to follow Steve and Bucky, for at least they humoured her. Now, she knew that she was the disappointing final daughter when he was praying for a son. Once gifted with a boy, why bother offering any sign of affection to the disappointment? Even if Darcy wished she weren’t so bitter about it all, she can’t help but feel the rush of anger swell in her heart. What was so special about a son? All they did was glare, fight, spit and curse. Besides, Darcy did most of those things anyway. Yet, she didn’t have the freedom afforded to men. It simply wasn’t fair. 

If Steve and Bucky were not here, she’d hop up and rush to her grandmother’s arms. She gave the best hugs, making her feel as safe as she had when she was a child, wrapped in a warm blanket and her grandmother’s love. 

“Have you ever heard the story of the _guerrier de loup_?” grandmother asked, shaking everyone out of their fog. Intrigued, Darcy smiled slightly at her grandmother. It was a story she’d never heard before and she’d been certain she’d heard all that her grandmother was willing to tell. 

“Guerrier de loup? That means wolf warrior? Does it not, Lady Banner?” Steve asked, earning a nod from grandmother as well as a small smile for the elevated title. 

“It does indeed. And please, call me Elizabeth,” insisted grandmother, placing a fourth serving of stew into Steve’s bowl. The man could certainly eat. 

“I have not heard this story, have I?” Darcy asked, still working on her first serving of stew and bread. She wondered why her grandmother had never told her this story though perhaps it was a new tale she’d learned this past year. 

“No but I thought these soldiers would be interested in it. Your grand-père told the story much better than I, but I will try my best,” smiled grandmother, setting down the ladle and sitting back on her stool with a wink. Clearing her throat, she waited, setting all with a serious gaze until she was certain she had their full attention. 

“Many, many years ago when the earth was new and humans just beginning to create civilizations, there were wars upon wars as men declared their borders and kings. Although these kings wove words of promise and gold for the most loyal of warriors, there was a dearth of men strong and capable after so many wars. Though all kings of all borders tried to find the strongest men that would not perish, it was the Viking kings that found the fiercest men with the strongest bloodlust. Men born of the North were colder than the winds they were born in and their battlefields were always soaked with blood and lost souls.”

“Did not the warriors go to Valhalla?” Bucky asked, unable to stop himself from interrupting but grandmother looked as pleased as ever, happy to answer his question. “Thor always talks of Valhalla. A magical place for great warriors.” 

“Not all are worthy of Valhalla. Especially those who kill for pleasure,” grandmother shrugged, quirking an eyebrow and corner of her mouth lifting into almost a smirk. “And there were certainly men who sought to be warriors so they could feed the darkness lurking within them. And there were certainly kings who sought these men. _But_ , there was one Viking king in particular, who set the task to his captain of war with the penalty of death if he did not find a troop of warriors that would win all battles. Men that bathed in blood and could only be stopped by the voice of their king. Of course, this was quite a lot to ask and the captain, while great, was beginning to run out of time. He searched the ends of the earth but could not deliver.

“On the night he was sure would be his last, he gave a final prayer to the moon and asked for peace so that he would meet death with dignity. The wolf, Hati, heard this prayer during his nightly chase of the moon. Hati was so moved by the soldier's plea that he granted the man with a wolf’s pelt. This pelt, Hati promised, would offer the strength of many men in battle and the rage of a wolf unhinged. Then Hati said that if the man be worthy, the captain could transfer some of these powers to another without dimming his own.” 

Leaning forward, Darcy lay her elbows on the table and listened to her grandmother’s deepening voice. There was such a seriousness overtaking her and her accent thickened. While somewhat normal for a suspenseful story in front of the fire, Darcy couldn’t help but notice there was an urgency to her grandmother that she’d never heard before in her fanciful tales. Although grandmother kept darting her eyes to the audience of three, she kept the longest focus on Darcy. It was as if she wanted Darcy to heed the words the most. Losing her appetite, Darcy pushed her bowl away and wished she’d had her cloak to wrap around her. 

“And so, the captain of war created an army of men. A battalion of _guerriers de loup_. They were the strongest and most deadly pack that any army had ever seen. The men devoured all before them and the king devoured the land left behind. All in the army were more than happy turn life into ash, for their souls were the same shade. But, none loved it more than the captain. The more he killed, the more he felt invincible. Perhaps he thought the more he killed, the closer he was to immortality. He’d long given up the hope to visit Valhalla on his death when blood tasted of honey and screams of innocents were more beautiful than even the most melodic songs.”

“He sounds terrible. I bet Steve and Bucky would have given him a run,” Darcy blurted. Her cheeks reddened when she realised she’d spoken out loud. She felt like a little girl, sitting at her grandmother’s feet and reacting with an naive view of the world she’d not truly had for quite some time. The men with the darkest hearts were often were those favored by the powerful. It was how the world ran. She knew that now. Though, she knew that Steve and Bucky had the purest of hearts and she wished that most men were like them. When she was greener, she thought the two were invincible. A part of her wished she still did.

Both Steve and Bucky had mixed opinions on her exclamation. Bucky appeared someone smug but pleased, often the look he offered her before ruffling her hair. On the other hand, Steve simply blushed. At grandmother’s kind laughter, Darcy turned her attention back to the story. 

“Well, I’m sure they may have. Though this man would reach a different fate. Where was I...oh. One day, he had the gifted pelt sewn onto his skin so that it could never be stolen. His humanity slipped away even faster than before and he became more monster than man. _He_ thought he was a god. Or nearing one anyway. Until, one night, his army marched into a village and demanded they recieve free rooms for the night, free women of choosing and all the food or ale they wanted to fill their bellies. The villagers agreed but only for fear of their town being turned to dust. But there was one older woman who refused. She was a wise woman who knew the old ways of the earth and moon. She refused to bow down to any man with such black hearts. The Captain laughed at her and spat in her face. He told her that she wasn’t even worth the steel of his blade as he stole the clothes of her back. As he tossed her into the cold night, she uttered a curse upon him.”

“Did he lose his powers?” Darcy whispered, brows raised and back straight. At the question, her grandmother’s eyes twinkled. 

“No, worse than that.” 

“Did he die?” Darcy asked.

“No, even worse,” grandmother smiled, shaking her head. 

“Did he...lose his manhood,” Darcy asked again, wrinkling her nose in disgust but her grandmother shook her head. Frowning, Darcy furrowed her brow and tried to think of what the curse would be. “What would be worse than that? For a man, that is?” 

“Unrequited love,” Bucky spoke up and grandmother nodded slowly. 

“The man fell in love with a princess as innocent as freshly fallen snow. She did not eat meat for fear of hurting animals and she lived a pure life, caring for those who were sick and in need, shunning her own needs. But she was disgusted by his true form and shunned him, even though it was not truly in her nature to disregard any living being.”

“That was the curse, wasn’t it?” Darcy asked and grandmother laughed. 

“Sometimes there is a thin line between love and hate. Other times we hate those we do not understand for it is unlike anything we have ever even imagined,” grandmother offered sagely but Darcy just crossed her arms. 

“I mean, unless he was horribly handsome, why would she even like him? He sounds like a brute.”

“Love is often a strange, incomprehensible curse,” Bucky said and Darcy couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “We are not meant to understand how and why it strikes.” 

“Since when did you become a wise bard?” Steve asked with a chuckle after swallowing a mouthful of stew. “But please, Lady Elizabeth, continue your tale. I wish to know the end.” 

“The man was so distraught, that he forsook the battlefield,” grandmother continued as if she’d not been interrupted. “He begged his love to give him three years to change her opinion of him. If she were to stay a maiden when he came back to ask for her hand, he would devote his life to the care of others no matter her answer. After he gave her this oath with blood, he wandered back to the lands where he killed so freely and helped those still left. He sought forgiveness where it was unwarranted in the hopes of changing the mind of his love. Where there was dead land and starvation, he sowed fields and fed the dying. Where there was pain, he did what he could to ease it. Life sprang up, the warriors who did not follow his lead dispersed and the king appeared content that his lands were now profitable. Finally, he crossed paths with the wise woman. For some reason, the change in him moved her and she took pity. She granted him a special cloak that hid his true form, so his beloved finally accepted him.”

“That seems sad. The woman never loved him for who he truly was?” Darcy quirked her head as she considered the story. “Though who could love such a monster?” 

“Every man believes himself to be a monster and every monster longs for the gentleness of love,” Steve said sagely and Darcy rolled her eyes. Now who was the bard? 

“Every man thinks he is the greatest gift to the earth. Every boy is treated as such so why should they believe any different? If they are so hungry for love, they should stop treating women like coal to warm their beds,” Darcy countered.

“Not all men,” corrected grandmother and Darcy felt herself chastised even if the tone did not suggest it. “Your grandfather was a kind man, though he did not believe it most days.” 

“Careful Darcy, you do not want your bitterness to swallow you whole,” Bucky warned and Darcy sneered just for his benefit. 

“Does bitterness not become me? Perhaps Ian will take one look at me from down the aisle and declare he made a terrible mistake. Then all my prayers will be answered,” Darcy declared, laying her hand on her forehead and grasping just below her neck in a fit of melodrama. The display did not impress Bucky or Steve but her grandmother was chuckling. 

“My darling, everything works out for the best,” grandmother assured in a soothing voice that calmed Darcy even if she didn’t see how it possible could. “Your stay is bound to be enlightening. Marriage is a frightening prospect but it can be a wonderful thing. Love can change one for the better. Have you not listened to my story? Even the fiercest of men can be tamed. Sometimes the blackest hearts still have light, fighting to stay.”

“She is right, Darcy,” Steve agreed. “Marriage is a blissful union if you open yourself to the opportunity.” 

“But grandmother always knew she loved grandfather and you always knew you loved Peggy. I do _not_ love Ian,” argued Darcy, feeling that there was something hidden in her grandmother’s warning that Steve simply was not understanding. Ian wasn’t the wolf man. She didn’t want to tame a beast. She wanted to be free.  

“You will learn to love him,” Bucky said softly but it was the exact opposite of what Darcy wanted to hear. They were not listening. Why wouldn’t they listen to her when this was the most important thing in her life thus far? How could they be so flippant about her future? She didn’t think she was worth that little. 

“And what if I don’t?” Darcy challenged, voice rising as she stood up from her stool. Her hands began to shake and she could feel her voice wavering but she did her best to stay even toned. “My stepmother never learned to love my father. Not really. After she gave him a son, she stayed as far as away from him as she could. She was sold off and then once her duty was over, she focused on us children because that was all she could afford to care for. But not once did she love my father nor did my father love her. Not really. All he cared about was how pretty she was. So what will you tell me then if that is to be _my_ fate? To live in misery and to search for gasps of happiness like a man dying of thirst as he searches for water?”   

“But what if you _do_ learn to love him?” Steve asked gently, standing up and setting down his empty bowl. Lifting his hands up, he did his best to look unassuming and unthreatening. “Many a couple dislike each other at first but grow a loving bond stronger than couples who lusted after each other at first sight. It is the lot we are offered and so you do the best you can with it.” 

“Offered?” Darcy snapped, voice cracking as she fought the urge to scream. “This was never offered to me. It was forced.” 

“Please, if you can calm yourself, we can discuss this,” Steve urged and Darcy let out a frustrated grunt, balling up her fists and barring her teeth. At her actions, Steve stepped back. Tears streamed down Darcy’s cheeks and her throat tightened. 

“All you want to discuss is how I should accept this. You talk about lots in life? Well, my lot is to be a..a _thing_ for men to use how they wish. Peggy and Jane were lucky. You love your wife beyond all belief and fought for her. You have actually felt passion and followed it despite the consequences. But now you stand here and tell me to just accept _my lot_? I thought out of everyone, you would understand. Thank you for showing me that you are just like every other man my father values,” Darcy spat, wiping at her wet cheeks and trying to stop her body from shaking. When Bucky stood up, hoping to comfort her, she commanded him to stay away. Turning around, she headed towards the door and grabbed her cloak along the way. She opened the door and welcomed the cool night air against her face. Without a look back, she shut the door behind her. Although she wanted to slam it, it was still her grandmother’s home and her grandmother hadn’t done anything to really to add to her agitation over the marriage. 

Darcy took in a deep breath and enjoyed the fresh scent of juniper that surrounded her grandmother’s cottage. Already, she felt her shoulders loosening and her heart slow. As she walked down the path leading back to the small village, Darcy swung her cloak over her shoulders with a flourish and did the clasp. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness but the moon was large and almost full. The light illuminated the pathway and cottage so that Darcy wasn’t entirely blind. When she heard the door open behind her, she ducked into the forest right of the path and ran. Moonlight shone through the tops of the trees but the leaves were lush and only allowed small cracks of light. 

Still, she did not slow her pace. Darcy occasionally stumbled but always caught herself just in time. She had ran through these trees all her life and so she had a sense of what to expect even if she didn’t know where she headed towards. For a few minutes, she could hear Steve calling out after her, concern drenching his voice. It did nothing to placate her though. Darcy kept running, even when her chest hurt and she could no longer hear her name carried along the breeze. Underneath her boots, she could feel the soft earth give just slightly with each step. Her pace caused air to rush past her so the end of her cloak was floating behind her. For a blissful moment, she forgot about Ian and her father and Steve’s misguided advice. All there was was the moonlight above her and trees surrounding her. Darcy closed her eyes and enjoyed the absence of fear. She let out a whoop that almost sounded like a happy little pup. 

That seemed to be her undoing. She tripped on a wayward root and fell forward. There wasn’t even time for her to realise what was happening. Darcy didn’t break her fall as she fell face forward into a small clearing. Although soft grass cushioned her, the breath still was knocked forcefully out of her chest. Pain sprouted up her bosom and into her ribs. The side of her face had also been knocked against the ground and Darcy tasted blood from where her teeth pressed against the inside of her cheek. Using her arms to lift herself up onto her knees, Darcy looked around to try and discern where she ended up. 

The small clearing was full of lush, green grass and moonlight shone brightly down upon the ring of mushrooms in the center. 

She remembered this. Once, when she was 8, she’d stumbled across this place but had never been able to find it again. On her birthday, she’d been walking through the forest with her grandfather as he pointed out all the different plants, trees and animals. When he had immersed himself in an explanation of which mushrooms were safe to eat, Darcy had run off and found this fairy ring, complete with a fairy. 

Tonight, she was not as lucky. No creatures, common or otherworldly seemed to occupy the ring but Darcy wouldn’t let herself be rendered into a false security. Getting to her feet, she brushed off her cloak and dress before walking closer to the ring of mushrooms. Many warned of the dangers surrounding fairy rings. Unfriendly creatures loomed around them, waiting for unsuspecting humans to drop their guard. Of course, it was common knowledge that one should never step inside a fairy ring, for the unlucky soul would be forced to dance until they die. 

It wasn’t a terrible fate, Darcy considered, especially if she had a life as Lady Boothby to look forward to. As she edged closer to the ring, a breeze picked up. Suddenly cold, Darcy tugged her cloak closer around her. Even though she knew it was simply the wind rushing past her ears, she could have sworn she heard a whisper all around her. 

_Bànrigh._

Utter nonsense. At least, it didn’t sound like any word she knew, yet, the hairs on her arms stood on end and a shiver ran down her spine. Darcy wanted to attest her reaction to the cold but she knew that wasn’t true. The word kept ringing in her ears as she drew closer to the edge of the ring. Something about it was familiar though, even if she couldn't place it. Now, she could see the mushrooms more clearly. Small, white and slight funnel shaped meant they were Fool’s Funnels. Poisonous and not to be eaten, her grandfather had taught her. 

_Bànrigh. Bànrigh. Bànrigh na madaidhean._

The closer she was to the ring, the more frantic the whispering grew. Urging chants swirled around her head and she felt hazy. The moonlight hitting her skin suddenly felt hot and Darcy’s skin itched something fierce. She wanted to rip off her cloak and dress and let the cool night air caress her into sleep. As Darcy reached up for the wolf head clasp, she gasped when she remembered. Remembered when she had heard those words before. 

As a little 8 year old, she stumbled across this fairy ring and a tiny spark of light floated in the center. It seemed to have spoken to her but Darcy didn’t know what it was trying to say. 

_Bànrigh na madaidhean._

Lifting up her hem, Darcy raised her foot so she could step over the mushrooms. A lifetime with the fairies didn’t sound too horrible. Not when there was nothing left for her here. At least she could dance until she withered away and no man could lay claim to her.

“You shouldn’t step into fairy rings,” a rough voice warned, pulling Darcy violently out of her trance. It was as if a pail of cold water had been tossed onto her. Her foot lowered and she turned to look at the intruder with a pounding heart. The wind stopped and the voices silenced abruptly.  

Anger filled Darcy as she tried to discern the large figure hiding at the edge of the clearing. Taking a few steps closer to her, moonlight caught the man and Darcy recognised the blacksmith from earlier that day. Her anger subsided and she took in a deep breath. Dropping her hem, Darcy turned towards Brock and crossed her arms. 

“And for what reason should I avoid stepping into a ring of mushrooms?” asked Darcy, wondering how superstitious Brock was. Bucky thought all of this was nonsense and would have danced a jig inside the ring by now to just prove Darcy wrong. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you the myths of the fairies?” Brock counted, amused. The moonlight shone down at such an angle that a shadow fell on half of his face but the other half she could see was handsome and smiling. “Step into a fairy ring and you’ll die from blistered feet. A lady as pretty as you would make a fine dancing partner for a fairy. I doubt they’d ever let you leave.” 

“Blistered feet?” Darcy snorted. “I think I can risk that much. Dancing with a fairy sounds like fun. Much more fun that I would have going back to my grandmother’s tonight.” 

“Ah, that would explain the two knights shouting out your name. I heard them screaming murder into the night just as I was about to settle into bed. They almost knocked down my door, threatening to slice me in half if I had gobbled you up,” Brock said, recalling the scene with leisure and corners of his lips quirking up as if he really wouldn’t mind the gobbling.  

“So after that threat, you decided to take a stroll in the woods?” Darcy asked drooly, crossing her arms and jutting out a hip. It was a stance that drove her stepmother crazy because no gentlebred lady would ever stand that way. The stance didn’t appear to have much of an effect on Brock. 

“Well, I thought maybe if I found the one they searched for, they’d finally shut up and I could sleep,” shrugged Brock. “I hadn’t realised she was trying to avoid two ridiculous knights by frolicing with dangerous creatures.” 

“I think Steve and Bucky would agree that you’re a more dangerous creature than any fairy. Actually, they don’t believe in fairies. But they do believe in large men threatening my virtue,” Darcy said coyly and Brock grinned, teeth shining in the night. It was practically lascivious and the shadow across his face only accentuated it. Tonight, Brock played the part of a wolf in sheep’s clothing but the disguise was poorly made. Uncertainty formed in the pit of her stomach but Darcy found that she liked it. A thrum of energy ran up her spine.  

“Do _you_ think your virtue is threatened by my presence?” asked Brock, standing up straighter and hooking his thumbs into a belt at his waist that held a single dagger. He wore braies and just a plain linen shirt. No doublet or hose. His appearance supported the claim that he’d just slipped out of bed but he was certainly not dressed to be around a lady. At least, not the daughter of a Baron. It should have been intimidating, frightening even but all Darcy could think about was the wolves on his back. The wolves had seemed to protect her all her life. Whenever she wore her cloak, she felt confident, powerful even, as if her mother’s spirit were with her. Even her grandmother always told her to keep her cloak on her bed at night for good luck.   

“No,” Darcy answered simply, biting her lip and turning her attention back to the fairy ring. There was a thin line between bravery and foolishness. At least, that’s what Thor once said defined her and all her sisters. He’d been rather proud of the trouble they could get into but that was the Viking in him. “You know, they say that the only way to escape a fairy ring is to have someone pull you out. Will you do that if I get caught in the dance?” 

Only a noncommittal grunt was her answer. She wondered if she had wounded his pride by not saying he was a fearsome beast to behold. Instead of humouring him, Darcy lifted her hem up and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and hopped into the ring. She waited a moment for the little balls of light to appear and the voices to return. Nothing happened. 

When she opened her eyes, she spun to find Brock’s arms crossed in front of him and his shoulders shaking from the laughter he held in. Darcy narrowed her eyes at him and let out a huff. A part of her had hoped that she’d be pulled away into another world. It seemed there was still only one reality and Darcy had no escape from it. Just as she began to pout, Brock walked closer and offered her his hand. She took it and he tugged her out of the ring and into his chest. The wall of muscle was hard against her cheek but heat like the smouldering of a fire radiated from his body. 

“Now, it is time I take you back to your grandmother’s,” Brock declared softly in her ear.

“Must I?” whined Darcy, burying her face in his chest. Although the night was warm, she didn’t mind his heat. He also smelled rather nice for a sweaty blacksmith. All cloves and woodsmoke. “Surely you wouldn’t mind keeping me company just a tad longer?” 

“You cannot spend the night with me. I enjoy not having swords thrust through my chest and head,” said Brock, fingers weaving through hers and free arm moving around her waist. 

“I’d rather spend the night sleeping in the middle of this mushroom circle than go back right now. Please, just a small drink of ale and then I will be out of your hair for good,” promised Darcy, looking to up present Brock with her best pout and shining eyes. It had always worked on her nurse and then onto Steve and Bucky. She could see Brock’s resolve waver, feel his hard body soften just a touch and his nose graze the crown of her head. 

“For some reason, I highly doubt that,” said Brock, narrowing his eyes at her then shaking his head as he stepped back. The loss of contact sent a sharp pain through Darcy’s chest though she did not know why. With one final piercing gaze, Brock turned and walked away. Darcy followed him, unsure if he wanted her to or not. He walked through the forest as if he had walked through it all his life, winding through trees and avoiding fallen logs even she hadn’t seen. After five minutes of dizzying strolling, Darcy rushed to try and walk next to him. It took several attempts but she finally was able to keep up with his pace.    

“You know, I once saw a fairy. When I was a little girl,” Darcy said but only got a grunt in response. She took it as encouragement, nonetheless. “In that very circle, I’m certain. I was 8 and out with my grandfather learning about foraging.” 

“Did the fairy tell you where to find the best berries?” Brock laughed cruelly and Darcy debated whether or not to continue the story. Honestly, he was being worse than Bucky when she told the story to the knight. A part of her wondered why the blacksmith was suddenly so callous. Did he need sleep that badly? Then again, she’d not be pleased if Steve and Bucky were knocking on her door in the middle of the night, accusing her of things she did not do. Either way, he shouldn’t take out his anger on her, especially when he was the one who searched for her. 

“ _No_. It said...well I’m not entirely sure what it said,” admitted Darcy. “I saw a flash of sparkling green light floating in the middle of the circle. A breeze started to blow around me, even though the entire day had been stuffy and stale. I wasn’t sure what to do so I curtseyed because my stepmother had told me that a lady always had to curtsey when meeting new guests. Once I had done that, I heard something in the breeze. I...I think it was the fairy talking but I don’t know what it was trying to say. It was a nonsense language.”

“Perhaps you only heard the squirrels laughing at you,” Brock said, taking a sharp left turn and effectively throwing off Darcy’s matching pace. Letting out a small curse under her breath, Darcy set back to keeping step with the ornery blacksmith. 

“ _Bànrigh na madaidhean,_ ” she spat at him, knowing that she was struggling to pronounce the words just as she had heard them. The sounds didn’t slip off her tongue easily. “Does that sound like squirrel chatter?” Anger at Brock’s cavalier attention had her in such a huff that she didn’t notice him stopping abruptly until she ran straight into his back.  

“ _Bànrigh na madaidhean?_ ” Brock repeated, saying each word beautifully and correctly. Darcy’s heart stuttered. 

“Do you know what it means?” Darcy asked hopefully, walking around to face Brock but what little moonlight shining through the trees was now on his back, drenching him in shadows. It was near impossible to make out the lines of his face. Even so, she could see the outline of his body changing. His head quirked to the side, as if contemplating something utterly baffling and he shifted his body back slightly, from the waist up. It appeared that he was taking a second look at Darcy and she was suddenly very aware of how illuminated she must be in the moonlight. Despite the canopy blocking the moon, a ray of light fell on her. Light caught on the silver clasp and glinted. It was unnerving, not knowing whether or not he liked what he saw. Then Darcy cursed herself for even considering that his opinion of her meant anything. Obviously, he had liked what he’d seen earlier today but it didn’t matter. It _shouldn’t_ matter. “Well? Does it mean anything?”

“No,” Brock said after an audible gulp then cleared his throat. It certainly didn’t sound like it meant nothing. “It’s utter nonsense.” 

“Why don’t I believe you when you say that?” Darcy said, hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. They stood there for a long moment, staring at one another, waiting for the other to give in. Eventually, Brock let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face. 

“I am going to need an especially large ale tonight,” he concluded and persevered his way back to his hut. Without bothering to give Darcy a second glance, he walked around her and mumbled to himself all the way. Once again, Darcy found herself struggling to keep up with him though she wasn’t too keen on standing by his side any longer. Every so often, she would make out a few of his words. They consisted mostly of ‘had to be a woman’ and ‘more trouble than she’s worth’ and the one that turned her cheeks a little rosy: ‘if she weren’t so pretty’. 

They walked what felt like another thirty minutes in the night. Darcy was surprised she had run that far into the woods without notice. The thought crossed her mind that maybe Brock wanted to spend more time with her but she quickly decided against that the more she heard him grumble over the unjust world that set her at his feet. Would have served him right if she told him that she could find better ways to occupy her time and simply leave him. Truth of the matter was that she was sincerely curious about him and it wouldn’t do to offend him more before she got the answers she wanted. So, Darcy bit her tongue, which was rather out of character of her. 

Her stepmother would surely be proud.

 


	3. What Big Ears You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, guys! I'm so happy people are still interested in this story. <3  
> Happy holidays and enjoy another chapter!

 

With a mocking flourish, Brock bowed as he opened the door of his hut and waved Darcy in first. There had been many a foolish thing Darcy had done in her life but she had a feeling that walking into the den of a large, virile man that she had only met by proximity this afternoon was certainly the most foolish. Something about Brock put her at ease but also made her knees want to knock together. It was a most strange combination of feelings and she wanted to explore them further. Surely, if she figured out why he made her feel this way, she could move on living her life and finding a solution to her arranged marriage. Steve had said that she needed to find a better suitor but she was sure another more appealing resolution was at hand. She didn’t want to escape one terrible marriage by entering another one willingly. 

“So, this is your humble abode?” Darcy asked coyly. Or at least what she thought was coy. She hadn’t much practice at the art. A dying fire only just illuminated the room but Brock made little time in walking over and feeding the flames until they blazed. Looking around the newly furnished room, she was slightly taken back. She’d remembered exploring the hut many summers ago but it certainly hadn’t looked like this, nor would she have ever imagined it could. The hut appeared a little larger inside than she’d remembered. There was a hearth in the far left corner that she knew he must have built. Around and above the hearth hung pots and pans as well as a shelf of plates and mugs. Plants and herbs hung drying throughout the hut, which pleasantly surprised her. A small table with two stools sat near the hearth and across from all that in another corner was his bed, piled high with furs and pillows. Shield, swords and axes were spread about rather haphazardly and Darcy noted that not all of them were newly made. In fact, a few looked like they had seen many battles. Warmth filled the room but it wasn’t entirely from the fire. Everything was charming in its own way, which was something Darcy never thought she’d hold an opinion over carelessly strewn weapons. 

When she realised that Brock was not going to invite her in politely, she walked the rest of the way herself and closed the door. Pulling out a stool, she sat down and did her best to make herself comfortable as Brock poured out two mugs of ale. After one sip, she wrinkled her nose at the strong bitterness. It held no sweetness compared to the brews at home. Looking up, Darcy found Brock gulping down the entire mug without stopping. When he had finished, he poured himself another but sipped it more leisurely this time. 

“Where did you find such a lovely cloak? Did you make it?” asked Brock, gesturing to her red cloak before setting down his mug and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He pulled out the second stool and sat down across from her, leaning his arms on the table and fixing her with a hard stare. 

“No, it was a gift from my grandfather. It belonged to his family, though I do not know of any history before that. My mother wore it when she was young but she died when I was born. So, it went back to my grandfather who eventually gave it to me on my 14th summer,” Darcy explained, shifting on the stool under Brock’s unwavering gaze. It was as if he was attempting to detect any lies from her, though why she would lie about a cloak, she wasn’t sure. Caressing the wolf head clasp absentmindedly, Darcy continued.  “My grandfather died a month or so after that and I keep it with me always because it makes me feel safe. I feel as if my grandfather and mother are watching over me when I have it on. My grandmother encourages me to wear it always, too. She says it brings me luck.” 

“Luck enough to be saddled with an unwanted suitor?” Brock asked and Darcy rolled her eyes at the reminder. 

“We were having a perfectly lovely evening until you had to mention that,” insisted Darcy, pressing her lips in a thin line. 

“I was having a perfectly lovely evening until you decided to run away from your retinue,” Brock countered, leaning back and taking a long, slow sip of ale, challenging Darcy’s stare. 

“Are you still upset about that? It’s not like I _wanted_ you to come find me. You could have left me to my own devices.”

“And leave you to God knows what out there?” Brock snapped, volume rising so swiftly that Darcy jumped up a little. Upon noticing her widening eyes, he cleared his throat and focused intently on swirling the ale inside his mug. The smallest bit of guilt flashed across his face for a moment before forcing his features into an attempt at nonchalance. Realization dawned over Darcy when she remembered her maid’s husband having a similar reaction before the man had made his intentions known. With a grin, Darcy leaned forward. 

“Tell me, do you always worry about all your new neighbors so much or simply the female ones?” Darcy asked in a whisper and Brock’s eyes shot up to her, narrowing as his lips formed the slightest pout. As much as she found it enjoyable to tease the man, Darcy remembered that it would not get the answers she wanted. Deciding on going for a more gentle approach, she ran her finger along the rim of her mug and looked up at Brock through her lashes. “But, I did have another reason to stay with you just a _little_ longer this evening.”

“Do I even want to know?” Brock asked warily, head leaning back at a slight quirk as he took her in and calculated how quickly he could lift her and toss her out of his hut. 

“It’s _I_ who want to know. I have never seen a design like the one on your back. Where did you get it?” Darcy asked. She tried her best not to appear too eager. For a long moment, they stared at one another in silence. Brock narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. At first, he leaned on his arms atop the table but then leaned back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The scrutiny did nothing to ease Darcy’s racing heart. Eventually, he let out a long breath through his nostrils. 

“A lifetime ago, I lived north. Set up with a...clan. Had ties to the Norsemen and the Picts. Both sides fierce warriors and valued a man’s ability in warfare. They would pierce their skin with dye, creating designs to help them in battle. I was a young man and curious. Thought it might help me not lose my head so quickly,” Brock said with a little shrug of his shoulders though his muscles here taut even if he spoke in an even, calm voice. 

“But why the wolves? And the sun and moon?” Darcy asked insistently, worried that his surprisingly open nature about the topic would leave as soon as it had come about. She’d have to flutter her eye more often if this was the result. Brock’s lips pouted ever so temptingly before be shrugged again, deciding that telling her wouldn’t harm anyone.

“It is from an old Norse myth. Two wolf brothers who were spelled by the gods- Hati and Skoll. One chasing the moon and the other the sun for all eternity until they devour the objects they seek. If they were to ever succeed, they would break their curse and the world would end,” Brock said, leaning in as Darcy did and enjoying the way she appeared to hang on each of his words. What a strange coincidence, that he should tell the story of a wolf chasing after the moon on the same night as her grandmother. 

“And why would the world end once they are free?” Darcy asked, voice as soft as a whisper. 

“Because who wouldn’t be scared of a wolf looking for vengeance on the ones to wrong him?” Brock answered in just as soft a tone, eyes dark. They sent a shiver down Darcy’s spine but she tried to shift and look around his hut again as if he weren’t affecting her. “But the story isn’t just about the destruction of a new world. The way this clan told it, they were certain that the devouring of the sun and moon would bring on a new world. Eventually, a better one.” 

“So why would a blacksmith want that story on his skin for all eternity?” Darcy wondered though what she really wanted to know was why her family would have taken the time to stitch it into the lining of a scarlet cloak. A new world did sound pleasant though. 

“I was a blacksmith who wanted a new start, a different life than what everyone had expected from me. I was looking for a better life and thought I had found it. Suppose I did, for a while,” Brock said, voice far away and eyes focusing on the mug gripped in both hands. He chewed on his bottom lip as he relieved memories, both good and bad if Darcy judged by the glistening of his eyes. 

“I need a better life. Where would I find this clan? Perhaps they need a healer of little experience,” suggested Darcy, wondering if they would be interested in her simply because of her cloak. Though, that was a high hope. Acceptance all because a picture from a myth well known in certain parts brought her good luck on occasion. For all she knew, her grandfather simply liked wolves and Norse myths. He certainly loved grandmother’s stories, so why couldn’t there have been stories he heard growing up that brought a smile to his face from just remembering or having it against his shoulders? 

“Most are dead and the rest are scattered, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, that is sad,” frowned Darcy, more so at the deaths of what would have been Brock’s family than her lost opportunity. 

“Death in battle is how they wished to die. An honorable warrior’s death,” Brock said sagely and Darcy held back the urge to scoff. She’d heard that drivel endlessly from knights. There were knights who had sworn to give their lives for her family’s protection but a part of her wondered if she could live with the guilt if a man ever actually died on her behalf. Although she was an old maid, she still was rather naive. At least, that’s what all the women around her kept telling her. 

“A meaningless death. Why die for the cause of another man?” asked Darcy, somewhat skeptical but still genuinely interested in an answer that would help her understand. 

“When you put it like that, I suppose you have a point,” smiled Brock, looking upon Darcy as if she was just a silly child. A stab of annoyance gripped her chest tightly and she looked away with a frown. “Though I’ve found that sometimes, a man just wants to fight and he will find any excuse for it.” 

“That’s just silly.”

“Yes it is and yet, men are still dying in the names of kings,” Brock conceded and Darcy just shook her head, staring past him and into the flames of the hearth. 

“Well, men have the most ridiculous urges. It still doesn’t solve any of my problems. A man dying for me does nothing in the end.”

“Men do have ridiculous urges but what problems does a pretty young Baron’s daughter face? Too many dresses to choose from? Haven’t found the best way to sneak out and meet a suitor your father hasn’t approved? Perhaps you have your own ridiculous urges while scoffing at those of men,” Brock teased, pitch of his voice dropping as he leaned forward on his elbows. Feeling her face become heated, Darcy stood up and knocked over her stool in the process. Surprise registered in Brock’s face, brow raising and eyes widening. Of course he wouldn’t understand. He was just like everyone else in that sense. Why would you run away from a comfortable life when so many faced hunger or cold? Well, she’d rather be hungry and cold then face what was waiting for her in this life. The day she became Lady Boothby, she would begin to lose everything of Darcy Lewis.   

“I want to go back to my grandmother’s,” Darcy said briskly, raising her nose and trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes. The last thing she needed was a stranger to try and remind her that she was wrong to run away from her fate. It wasn’t her fate. It just simply couldn’t be all her life would amount to. 

“Have I offended you?” Brock asked, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips and concern in his eyes. In reply, Darcy shook her head and picked up the stool that had fallen. Her hands began to shake and she hid them within her cloak. All she could think about was what her life will be once she married Ian. Polished, fake manners and forced smiles. Wearing only what he thought looked fetching on her and embroidering until her fingers bled. No more running out with the knights during training on special days or wandering the forests for herbs and flowers. Nothing that she loved was acceptable for a Baron’s daughter if she were to be in an acceptable marriage. Nothing of Darcy Lewis would stay. 

Unable to breath, chest constricting and the air in the hut now too hot, Darcy let out a strangled sob and ran out of Brock’s hut. The moment the cool air hit her face and she saw the moonlight illuminating the trees around her, Darcy was able to finally breath. Her heartbeat slowed and chirping crickets reminded her that she was still at the beginning of summer. There was still a little bit of time for her to find a solution. Even if that solution was dancing ‘til she died in a fairy ring. Resolve settled, Darcy began a quick walk to her grandmother’s home. 

It did not take long for Brock to catch up. Actually, Darcy was a little surprised he even tried. Surely, he’d be happy to have her out of his hair and responsibility. They walked in silence, Darcy’s head still held high as she stomped the entire way with an occasional sniffle. Her head was still filled with rushing thoughts but she had new purpose now. She was Darcy Lewis. Granddaughter of Elizabeth and Bruce Banner. Grandmother had fled France to escape persecution and her grandfather was an educated man despite being born to farmers. Mother’s life had been cut short but she would have been a woman of great means if time had not defeated her. If Darcy’s blood was anything to go by, she was bound to be destined for something better than a wife easily tossed aside. 

“Are you alright?” Brock asked, concern in his voice. 

“Why do you even care? The silly Baron’s daughter who never face any difficulty in her life is leaving and I promise I will do my best to avoid you this summer. Isn’t that what you want?” Darcy shot back.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Brock pointed out though he had also deftly avoided her own questions. 

“Fine,” huffed Darcy, stopping and spinning on Brock who just barely stopped in time to avoid slamming into her. They stood face to chest, Darcy looking up at him with narrowed eyes. Again, the moon had cast shadows on his face but she could just make out the consternation on his face. At this distance, she felt heat radiating off his body, smelled the smokey scent of his skin and felt a fog descend on her. Shaking her head to try and clear her mind, Darcy cleared her throat. “I am not alright if you must know. But there is certainly nothing you can do about it. I am going to marry a terribly boring man at the end of this summer and will certainly never see my grandmother again or do anything that brings me any joy. So, pardon me if I seem a tad preoccupied. I know it is nothing compared to losing all your friends in battle or what other hardships you have certainly faced in life but they are _my_ hardships. Now if you don’t mind, I will leave you once and for all. I’m sure you will be glad to be rid of the silly little Baron’s daughter.”

With that, Darcy spun on her heel and kept walking. About five steps away, a final thought popped into her head and she offered Brock a last glance. He stood stock still, mouth agape. “And one more thing. Next time you see me walking into the woods, leave me alone. I have walked these woods hundreds of times my entire life and there, the most dangerous thing that I would ever come across is you!”

Despite her rage, she could still hear him walking behind her, just ten paces back. Not wanting to waste anymore time on him, Darcy just kept walking and ignored him. If Bucky or Steve saw him, they’d surely take offense and while she didn’t care for any of these men, the least they could do is battle each other and leave her alone. When she reached her grandmother’s home, she refused to answer any questions. She walked straight into her room, closed the door behind her and fell into her bed, where she cried tears of anger, frustration and sadness until sleep took her.     

 


	4. What Big Arms You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the comments and kudos. You guys are the real stars here.   
> Also I got the day off because of the snow storm so here's a long chapter for you!

The next morning, Darcy woke in better spirits. Today, Bucky and Steve would return to her father’s holding and let her be for the rest of the summer. Without them constantly trying to change her mind, perhaps she would able to think a little more clearly. Stretching and yawning, she snuggled into the blankets, closing her eyes and thinking on all the things she would do in the next few months. In a little over a week, they would attend a market a few villages away. She always accompanied grandmother to sell herbs and healing tonics. It was also fun to see what all the other vendors had to offer. Within the next week, Darcy would help her grandmother collect herbs in the forest. It was a job that Darcy enjoyed. 

With that to look forward to, Darcy got up and changed into a kirtle she kept at grandmother’s. Darcy fell asleep wearing the one she had traveled in. Although it was the plainest one she owned from home, it was rather lavish for these small villages and drew attention she didn’t want. Picking out an olive kirtle that laced in the front, Darcy felt a little more at ease. In this, no one else really questioned her presence. She could go about her day without being harangued. Given that she intended to wander through the forests, she probably wouldn’t be bothered much to begin with. It suited her just fine. 

When she walked out into the house’s main space, she found Bucky and Steve sitting with half finished bowls of porridge. Grandmother sat by the hearth, stirring a pot and humming. At her appearance, both men looked up, their faces marred by guilt and relief. It pacified her somewhat. 

“You had a good night’s sleep, I take it,” grandmother asked with a kind smile, waiting for Darcy to kiss her on the cheek in greeting. Once Darcy did so, grandmother handed her a bowl of porridge. Since she had no choice, she sat next to Bucky at the table.

“It was decent enough,” Darcy said, mouth already full. The night had been full of dreams. Generally pleasant but she didn’t remember many details. Still, she remembered enough to cause her face to heat. The blacksmith had certainly made an appearance but Darcy wouldn’t admit that out loud. She reached over and plucked a few currants from the middle of the table and hummed at their sweetness. Taking a small handful of them, she dropped them into her porridge. 

“Darcy,” Steve began tentatively, waiting for Darcy’s eyes to slowly move towards him. “I want to apologize for last night. It was never my intention to upset you.” 

“What was your intention?” Darcy asked and noticed his skin grow just a tad paler. 

“He simply wanted you to consider your options. All of them,” Bucky intervened and Darcy’s narrowed eyes moved from one man to the other. 

“Come now, it is silly to repeat this,” grandmother said, slowly standing up and walking towards the table. Her hands sat on her hips and she sent reprimanding glares to everyone, causing all the occupants at the table to shift and look away. “These two men have a long morning of travel and Darcy needs to collect more herbs for me. Let us all end on pleasant terms. We all care for one another and that is what is most important.”

“You are right, Lady Banner,” Steve nodded enthusiastically and grandmother’s eyes twinkled at the high title bestowed onto her. “I will miss your stories and sage words.” 

“And you are a charmer when it suits you,” grandmother laughed. 

“He’s only a charmer by accident. Believe me, he doesn’t have a poetic bone in his body,” Bucky chuckled, scooping up the last bit of food in his bowl then standing up. “I shall finish saddling the horses and we will soon be on our way. I would hate to overstay our welcome.”

“You are always welcome here,” Darcy sighed, unable to hold her grudge much longer. While she was still irritated with the two men, she still cared for them like brothers. Besides, their sad, pitiful faces were difficult to stay angry with. 

“I am glad to hear it,” Bucky smiled, reaching out to ruffle the top of Darcy’s head. She swatted him away because her already tangled hair did not need much help to look chaotic. 

“Oh, save that for the horses,” Darcy huffed, digging into her porridge once her coif was safe. Within the half hour, both men were ready to ride and Darcy found herself a little sad at their departure. She watched the men check their mounts one last time. Grandmother reappeared from the house with a bundle of food. As she explained the contents to Steve, Bucky pulled Darcy aside. 

“You know that I only wish for the best for you,” Bucky started sincerely and Darcy did her best not to roll her eyes. It didn’t escape him. “Whether or not you believe that marriage to Boothby is the best or not. I trust that you have a good enough head on your shoulders to make the right decision. Also, I am aware that marriage may not be the best path for you.” 

“Really?” Darcy asked, standing up straighter as her eyes widened. She allowed herself to feel just an ounce of hope. 

“Yes,” nodded Bucky. “As you know, I have a younger sister. She should be just about your age, actually.” 

“You’ve told stories before. She lives a few days ride from my father, yes?”

“Just recently married to a kind young man, relatively well off. I am sure the town could use another healer or even simply a companion to my sister,” Bucky explained and Darcy practically hopped up with excitement. Raising a hand, he willed her to keep calm. “It is not certain for now. Please just consider what you truly want for your future. Peggy wishes to visit you in a month’s time and I can escort her. We will discuss it further then.” 

“Thank you,” Darcy swore, wrapping her arms around his waist for a tight hug. “You know, I always saw you as a brother. More so than little Godfrey.” 

“Come now, Godfrey adores you. And you him.” 

That brought a bit of guilt pooling in Darcy’s stomach. Godfrey was 13 but still a sweet little boy at heart. He was always getting into scrapes then running to Darcy to offer a hug and tell her all about his adventures. Despite father reprimanding the boy for his ‘tender’ disposition or Darcy’s unladylike behavior, Godfrey always snuck off to try and drag Darcy onto their own little adventures. In fact, she was quite sure she’d be getting letters from him throughout the summer and he’d be begging their father to let him visit. “Yes but father hardly ever lets me near him now. I think he believes I will corrupt him.” 

“I do not blame him,” chuckled Bucky, pulling away from Darcy’s grip. He stepped back and pulled out a dagger from his waist belt. “Here, I want you to have this. Keep it with you always when you leave the cottage.”

“I will be perfectly safe-” Darcy insisted but Bucky cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. 

“The worst you can let happen is to fall into security and then face danger unprepared.” 

“Is this because of that blacksmith? I assure you, I have no intention of getting near him,” Darcy insisted even if she knew the words weren’t completely true. Well, they were the exact opposite of what she intended. When she woke up this morning, she’d decided to not let the surly man bring her down. In fact, she would annoy him more just to get back at him. There was nothing more than that, especially not the fact that she’d woken up flushed after dreams of amber eyes and rumbling voices. 

The raised eyebrow from Bucky showed that he clearly did not believe her. “Really? What about the stares the two of you were sharing yesterday?” 

“Well, things have changed and I’ve decided he’s even worse than Sir Renauld,” Darcy said haughtily. 

“Sir Renauld? What has he ever done to you?” Bucky frowned and Darcy forgot that she’d never told him about the advances of Sir Renauld. 

“Nothing and nor will Brock,” stated Darcy, tone not leaving any room for argument. Although Bucky let it go, his eyes were narrowed and his brow furrowed. Certainly, he’d have a talk with Sir Renauld once he returned to the keep. To distract him again, Darcy took the dagger from Bucky and examined it. The blade was the length of her hand with a round dark wooden handle, carved with the design of a twisting branch. Both the silver pommel and crossguard were small and circular. The blade itself was small and thinned to a sharp point at the end. Small and easily hidden up a sleeve if she needed it. 

“I promise to keep it with me at all times,” Darcy said and tension eased from Bucky’s shoulders. “If anything, I can use it to cut herbs while I have my adventures.” 

“At least it will be put to use, I suppose,” sighed Bucky, not at all impressed that the trusty weapon once used to maim enemies was now a gardening tool. To ease his annoyance, Darcy wrapped her arms around him again for another tight hug. He leaned into it, body relaxing and he held her in his arms. 

“Where is my hug?” Steve called out, breaking the two out of their tender moment. 

“You don’t get one,” Bucky replied, causing Darcy to giggle. Tucking her dagger into the belt at her waist, she ran over to Steve and jumped into his arms. He caught her but let out a sharp exhalation when her knee accidentally jabbed him. 

“Stay out of trouble,” Steve pleaded. 

“You never stay out of trouble. How can you ask others to?” Darcy pointed out and Steve huffed. 

“Then don’t get into too much trouble. And I am sorry for upsetting you. I promise, we will find an answer that makes both parties pleased,” promised Steve and although Darcy wasn’t sure there was one, she decided she would be better off letting Steve believe that he had some ability to solve it. It was better to be in the hands of Sir Steven Rogers and Sir Bucky Barnes than to be in her father’s hands, Darcy was certain. If given the opportunity, Steve and Bucky would be able to come up with a solution. She felt foolish to ever think Steve would ever betray her. But just to be safe, Darcy would have to write letters to Jane and Peggy. They may have ideas that were a little more sly. Steve often took the blunder-headed approach and ran towards danger without a second thought. Normally effective in battle but it may cause more trouble than needed in this situation.

As Darcy watched the two knights ride off, she felt a little more at ease. It was only the beginning of her visit and if she truly needed it, there were resources she could tap into. Still, she would only do so if she were in dire need of help. Darcy was determined to figure this out herself. It was her future and no matter what, she would have to displease her father. She might as well take most of his anger instead of involving anyone else. 

 

* * *

 

The next few days, Darcy lived in absolute paradise, dancing through the forests, napping in fields and pampering her horse. She walked through the forest, finding herbs and mushrooms and flowers. All she placed in her basket so that she could make salves, poultices, healing draughts and soaps for the market. Out of amusement and to not break her word to Bucky, she kept his gifted dagger at the bottom of the basket but she only ever used it to occasionally cut the roots off whatever plants she found. It was a simple life but she truly enjoyed it. Grandmother had a rather calming way about her that always made the world feel like a wonderful place and that no bad could happen. When she was at her father’s holding, she would need to sneak and scheme in order to live as she wished. Even if her father wasn’t paying much attention to her these days (unless it was to ensure she was still capable of selling off), he’d made sure that she was surrounded by constricting ladies companions or chaperones that ensured she lived ‘life as expected for a baron’s daughter’. 

It was horrid. Although her sisters had always encouraged Darcy’s ‘eccentricities’, they were no longer living at the holding. Only on visits now did Darcy see them but they wrote one another dutifully. Jane was the one to suggest to Darcy that she should become a healer in an effort to stave off an unwanted marriage. So, Darcy was planning to put herself wholeheartedly into learning more from Grandmother this summer. 

During one of these lessons of how to best dry and air herbs, Darcy was enjoying the earthy smell permeating the cottage. While Darcy knew most of the names from summers spent with her grandparents, she sometimes had trouble remembering what the useful ones were best used for. Knowing all the uses of yarrow was different from simply knowing what plants were edible or not. So far, they’d gone over the best for fevers and aches. She was doing passable and was determined to do better. Still, as she tied bundles of herbs to the hooks hanging down from the rafters, Darcy’s mind began to wander. 

“Grandmother, what do you know of the blacksmith?” asked Darcy, doing her best to sound uninterested. Earlier that day, Darcy had walked past his cottage but it had been boarded up. She’d been saddened by the prospect that he’d decided to leave but his tools were still outside and she thought she heard shuffling behind the door. It was more likely that he was just avoiding her but she’d been put to ease knowing that he’d not disappeared without a farewell. On the rest of the walk back to her grandmother’s, Darcy scolded herself at her tender feelings over a man she shouldn’t care a wit about. 

“I’m afraid I know very little. Why the curiosity? Should I be sending a letter requesting the return of your knights. They did tell me that if I ever thought you were in danger by the gentleman, I should send word straight away,” grandmother said with a mischievous smile. Setting Darcy with her ever warm eyes, she waited for the inevitable chagrined reaction. Which was a scoff. 

“Did they now?” Darcy wrinkled her nose in disgust. She could take care of herself. “Surely those two toads have better things to do.” 

“Come now, they worry for you like brothers should,” said grandmother, gathering fresh peppermint leaves and tossing them into a small, palm sized pouch she’d been preparing. From what Darcy could tell, she’d ground dried yarrow, boneset and skullcap before scooping it up into the pouch. Most of the ingredients were for fever and pain but she wasn’t sure what use the skullcap held. In the back of her mind, she recalled the healer visiting her father’s keep and asking for the herb to aid a maid who had fallen into hysterics. 

“Overbearing brothers,” Darcy said after a pause, trying to peek at what else grandmother was going to add into her concoction. It was tied off before she could get a good look. 

“Sometimes, those are the most caring kind.”

“You know, you never told me what you know of the blacksmith,” Darcy pointed out as grandmother walked to her locked trunk. It was an ornate piece with painted scenes of love and battles that were now fading. According to grandmother, it was the only thing she had left from France. It also housed her most dangerous herbs and mixes. Taking out the key hidden underneath her apron, grandmother unlocked the trunk but used her body to block what she was searching for from Darcy’s view. Darcy had never actually been allowed to see what was inside the trunk. Though she remembered seeing a flash of metal and heard chainmail once many years ago. 

“He’s a misunderstood man but appreciates the old ways. Been through difficulty and pain enough for a lifetime. Searching for his purpose, as you are,” said grandmother, still riffling around the trunk. Once she was finished, she stood up, closed and locked the trunk before turning towards Darcy with another small pouch in her palm. “Though, I fear he is quite content to ignore it, even if it stops right in front of him.” 

“That really doesn’t tell me much,” Darcy pouted but then raised her brow when grandmother placed both pouches into Darcy’s hands. 

“Perhaps when he is feeling better, he will tell you himself. He shall not harm you, that I am certain. Fear not on that though I doubt you ever did. But, I have the feeling your Knights’ concern is misplaced and they should be worried about _you_ putting the poor blacksmith in danger,” grandmother said with a wink. 

“And how would I do that?” asked Darcy, lifting the mystery pouch to her nose and taking a sniff. It was very light, almost as if nothing was in it but she could just catch an earthy, green scent. It didn’t tell her much. 

“You’re a mischievous little sprite and he is quite content with a boring, simple life. You could wreak complete havoc on him,” grandmother said, eyes twinkling with plans that she’d very likely never tell Darcy of. “Much like I did to your grandfather. Now go take this to the blacksmith. The herbs should be mixed with hot water and let to cool until tepid. One thumbs worth. He can chew on the fresh peppermint if he so wishes. No more than three glasses in a day's time.” 

“And the...whatever this is?” Darcy asked while trying to undo the knot on the second pouch but got a sharp pinch to her side for her troubles. “Ow!”

“That, he can have if the tea doesn’t work. Last resort. Crush half a leaf in warm water and swallow. No more than one full leaf a month and he is not getting any more from me than this.” 

“What is it? And why only once a month?”

“That is a lesson you will learn another day,” grandmother said with finality before turning back to the hearth where she was preparing a mixture of soap. “Now off with you and any more questions you can ask him.”

With that, grandmother turned her attention back to the soap, humming a warm tune and sniffing various flowers and herbs as she decided on combinations. Obviously, if there was anything else that Darcy wanted to know, she’d have to badger it out of Brock. Easy enough, Darcy supposed, as she walked out of her grandmother’s home. When she was out of sight, she opened the pouch that she wasn’t meant to know the contents of. In the end, it was a bit of a let down. Darcy’s shoulders slumped as she took in 5 dried leaves. Each was about the length of her little finger and had the shape of fern leaves. Since she didn’t remember what it was, she would have to commit the leaves to memory and search for it on her own. Slumping her shoulders, Darcy tied the string in a pretty bow and continued on her way. 

Soon enough, she was knocking quite incessantly on Brock’s door. The first couple of neat knocks earned her nothing but silence. A few more got her a grunt that sounded like a command to leave. Instead of listening, she kept knocking until after a snarl, the door swung open. At the sight before her, Darcy took a step back. Brock’s hair was lank and damp, a mixture of feral anger and pain within his eyes. Face unshaven for enough days that a beard now grew. He only wore braies. A sheen of sweat covered any bit of pale skin she saw peeking through the hairs of his large chest. Brock’s arms and shoulders were taut as he took in deep breaths. She could see each of his defined muscles move and shift under his skin.  

One of his hands clamped on the edge of the door threatened to crack the wood as Brock’s brow furrowed. His eyes searched her and it was almost as if he were trying to remember who she was. Taking a deep inhale of air through his nose, Brock held it in his chest. It took a moment before his shoulders eased and he let out a long exhale. The anger eased from his face, softening the harsh lines with contrition. A little bit of color bloomed on his chiseled cheeks. 

“What are you doing here?” Brock asked, irritated voice rough as sand but he tried to force it down to only a mildly vexed tone. Letting go of the door, he dropped his hands to his sides and they clenched into fists. Although Darcy knew he was a fearsome sight to behold, she couldn’t help but feel comforted by her grandmother’s words: Brock would never harm her. Holding out the two pouches, Darcy waited but Brock’s eyebrow only rose in question. 

“It’s from my grandmother,” Darcy stated, repeating the instructions. With a single nod, Brock unclenched his hands and gently took the two pouches, doing his best to not touch her skin with slow, calculated movements. A slew of questions flew to the tip of Darcy’s tongue but she held herself back. It didn’t seem the best time to bother a man who was obviously on the edge of his own control. As curious as Darcy was to see what _exactly_ would be unleashed, she decided that Brock would probably regret whatever he did and didn’t want to spend the rest of the summer reaping whatever the outcome would bring. Not quite yet, at least, a small voice in the back of her head whispered. A shiver ran down Darcy’s spine at the thought and she looked away, shaking off the flutter in her stomach. What sounded like a whine escaped from Brock and Darcy’s head snapped back towards him. One hand was back to clutching the door and his muscles jumped the moment her eyes gazed on his skin and bulging veins. 

“Tell your grandmother that I shall cart her and her wares to the village next week. As payment,” Brock said, voice such a low rumble that Darcy had to lean her body closer to hear it clearly. The offer sent a rush of differing emotions through her. While she was excited at the prospect of bothering him for an entire day, there was something different intermingled in the normal joy being a lovable pest caused. It sat deeper in her gut, foreign at first but perhaps actually only deeply buried. An anticipation that she did not yet want to explore but waited patiently and hungrily at the thought of the man in front of her.  

“Well, if that’s all then,” Darcy said with false brevity after an audible gulp. Brock’s eyes followed the movement of her throat as she swallowed. If it had been any other man watching so intently, she’d be offended. She didn’t know why she wasn’t now but didn’t intend to find out. Without another word, Darcy turned on her heel and made her way back to grandmothers. She was likely going to stop by the creek on her way back. She could do with dipping her toes in the water and tickling fish. 

“Stay inside tonight,” Brock called after her. Stopping as if a rope around her waist had just given her a sharp tug, Darcy felt her brow furrow as she tried to make sense of Brock’s warning. “Tis a full moon.” 

“What difference does that make?” Darcy asked, indignation at him telling her what to do though she supposed she shouldn’t be all that surprised by now. All men ever seem to know was to make commands towards her. Turning her head to look at him, she found him sweating and swaying in his doorway. He did look quite sickly. Maybe she shall come back tomorrow morning to check on him.

“You never know what faries will be waiting in the shadows for unsuspecting beautiful maidens. Some of them may be wanting wives. I know how opposed to that notion you are,” said Brock, the usual smug and roguish manner that she’d come to expect from him a little clearer now. Instead of being ruffled at his teasing of her belief in fairies, Darcy couldn’t help the little thrum of pleasure at something else. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” Darcy called back to him. The way he stood up straight, entire body stiffening, caused the hidden feeling of hers to swell until it seemed to hum happily in the back of her head. Instead of recanting his compliment, Brock grumbled. 

“Stay inside with your grandmother,” Brock barked, face darkening with something that made Darcy’s knees knock together before shutting the door loudly. With a snort, Darcy quelled the excitement beginning to build inside her. She tried to focus on the anger at him telling her what to do but she couldn’t hold onto it for very long. Instead, she walked back and tried to think about the last time she wandered alone during a full moon. She couldn’t even remember when she’d walked outside on a full moon’s night. 

Although she never really thought much on the moon and her adventures, she couldn’t help but remember the evenings that she did take the moon into account. Normally, she fell asleep quite early. She wasn’t allowed to leave at night in her father’s holdings so there really wasn’t much else to do. Though her stepmother always reserved those evenings for stories and warm sweet drinks, even now. The stories had turned into lessons in needlepoint that had Darcy nodding off very early. They were similar to the nights with her grandmother. Her grandmother always liked to wrap Darcy in her red cloak and ply her with stories and sweet snacks until Darcy fell into a deep asleep in front of the fire. 

Surely, there was nothing of importance to that. Brock was just trying to upset her somehow. 

 


	5. What Big Hands You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO SO MUCH for the comments! I'm sorry I didn't get around to replying because I really meant to. You guy are amazing and keep me writing <3  
> Enjoy the next installment of medieval/ fairytale Darcy shenanigans. Brock is warming slightly to our heroine.

The trip to the busy market town was not ideal. Brock had traded some well made tools and axes for use of a cart horse named Silvermane. Although the trip was much nicer than using Darcy’s horse to carry both her and her grandmother, as well as their supplies, Brock made Darcy sit in the back of the cart after insisting there was only room for two in the front. As the cart bumped and tousled her, Darcy regretted not saddling her own horse and tried to bore holes into the back of Brock’s head. Two weeks had passed since bringing him his remedies. She had to admit that he looked much better than before. Although she’d made excuses to walk past his hut and check on his health, Brock was rather flippant and did whatever he could to be unpleasant. Even if watching him chop wood shirtless and bang out different iron creations was entertaining at first, it eventually lost some of its charm, what with all the surly looks he cast her. Darcy spent more and more time on her own when it was obvious that any interest he’d originally shown towards her had been a mistake in judgement on her part. 

It suited Darcy fine, even if her pride stung. Still, she liked the idea of a man being somewhat interested in her despite her title. Brock didn’t strike her as the sort to go after women of means for a dowry. Then again, he was mostly level headed and any level headed man wouldn’t turn down a formidable dowry if offered, even if a horrifying bride accompanied it. 

Darcy never got the chance to ask him his preference of love versus gold. Well, it was more accurate that she never asked for fear of the answer. She quite liked the image of a man who shunned riches for a life of hard work. An idealistic and naive view of the world, perhaps, but Darcy was rapidly running out of time to enjoy the simple pleasures. As she’d yet to come up with a plan to thwart her betrothed fate, she clawed for anything to restore her faith in destiny and dreams. It had become quite clear that Brock was not a solution or even a reliable distraction. 

The town was almost an entire day’s ride from grandmother’s home but they’d started at dawn. Normally, Darcy and her grandmother only came to the town once a month and stayed for a few days. The market took place weekly but the lord that owned the land was kind and allowed travelers to sell their wares for days at a time if they payed a tax. Added excitement was that Darcy always found ways to entertain herself in the village and thus looked forward to catching up with friends she had made over the years. So in theory, it should be a delightful way to spend the upcoming days. As long as the weather stayed clear, Darcy decided she would not let Brock’s attitude sour her spirits. 

The town boasted one inn but its mattresses were flea ridden and sometimes the visiting soldiers were rough or didn’t take no for an answer. To avoid it, grandmother offered soap and herbs to the town healer who let them sleep in her small home. Unfortunately, the woman had passed away at the end of winter. Since Brock was in tow, they decided on covering the wagon and sleeping just outside the town lines. Common with many traveling merchants and common when grandfather was alive but not the safest when there were just two women.    

Brock slept under the wagon while Darcy and her grandmother slept inside. The first two nights were rather uneventful. Brock chose to speak more to grandmother and didn’t say anything to Darcy until it was absolutely necessary. After a day of this, she decided to do the exact same to him. It was terribly difficult, especially when Brock did little things to try and garner a reaction from her once he realized she was trying to beat him at his own game. Silly little things like purposely bumping into her or moving objects she had put down were fine and well when Bucky, Steve or even little Godfrey did them but it was absolutely infuriating coming from Brock. 

If it had been one of the boys she knew so well, Darcy would have simply tousled until there was a winner. That simply wasn’t an option with Brock because Darcy wasn’t keen on seeing how he’d react to it. He seemed the type to not let her win. But also, she didn’t feel the same annoyance bubble up when Brock went out of his way to prick her nerves. An angry blush would heat her face but her insides fluttered and her heartbeat pounded whenever he touched her. There were moments where she would retaliate in the most immature of ways, knowing full well he’d reach out and grab her wrist. Darcy was beginning to even crave his touch, whether it be a sliding of shoulders or his light pinching her side. Something in her chest pained whenever he moved away from her and every so often, she felt like a string was starting to weave its way from her heart to his. Completely ridiculous and caused by the unusual heat so early in the early summer. At least, it must have been because otherwise, she couldn’t make sense of it. 

Eventually, Darcy distracted herself from the fanciful thoughts she’d been having. Market day flew by rather fast and she even found time to catch up with old friends. All had families that were growing and appeared happy, leaving Darcy with envy in her heart at little freedoms available to those not born of high stations. But, at least the town market was busy and many were interested in the wares Darcy and her grandmother had produced. Brock also fared well, catching the impressed eye of soldiers collecting taxes. They ordered a list of items to be finished within the next couple of weeks, which would more than keep Brock busy. 

When the crowds began to calm, grandmother left to bid farewell to friends and for a bit of final trading of her own. That left Darcy and Brock to pack up the cart on the final day. They intended to sleep one more night by the town and leave at dawn. For the first time in her life, Darcy found that she was relieved to be leaving. It had been rather warm these past few days and the heat had done nothing to ease her temper. In fact, she’d not worn her red cloak for most of the trip despite her grandmother’s occasional suggestion to put it back on. 

Not intending to speak to Brock for the rest of the trip if she had to, Darcy made her way to Silvermane and led the horse back towards the wagon as the final wares were tossed in the back. With soft words and treats during these past few days, Darcy had easily earned Silvermane’s undying love. He was a sweet grey horse with large hooves and a dark spot on his nose. Throughout the trip, Darcy had groomed him and braided flowers throughout his tail and mane, all to Brock’s consternation. Once Silvermane was tied to the wagon, Darcy gave the horse a pat on his shoulder and earned a nuzzle to her neck as he sought out the carrots he knew she was hiding. The nuzzle turned into light nibbles and with a giggle, Darcy acquiesced by pulling out the carrot from her satchel at her waist and fed him. Silvermane’s head lifted as he finished chewing and he began to sniff Darcy’s cheek. She couldn’t help but give him a little peck above his nose. 

“You’re going to spoil him if you keep doing that,” Brock’s voice rumbled, startling Darcy out of the innocent moment. An unbidden shiver ran down her spine and she could feel his body heat even though he was two large strides away. 

“Why does that bother you? You’re not jealous of the attention he gets, are you?” Darcy said with a feigned air of detachment. 

“Are you asking if I’d want you to braid my hair and feed me carrots?” Brock rose an eyebrow and grinned with commanding poise that made Darcy want to throttle him. “The answer is no.” 

“Unbearable toad,” muttered Darcy, turning her attention back to Silverman and moving to pet his neck. As she took her time to come up with a scathing remark, she felt an itch between her shoulders. She recognized the feeling as Brock’s eyes burning her skin and wished she wasn’t so aware of his presence.     

“I wouldn’t mind the affection though,” Brock said softly and Darcy’s entire body stiffened. A lump formed in her throat as her hand slowed. Silverman nudged at her to continue but all Darcy could do was blink while attempting to process the meaning of his words. The logical voice in her head told her he was just trying to garner a violent reaction but there was some other feeling in her gut that wanted her to lunge. Lunge at him to what end, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Once Darcy found her courage, she turned to face Brock but before she read the meaning behind his earnest face, a woman strolling towards them caught her attention instead. She was wearing a fine kirtle of rich blue, with the neckline dangerously low. Around her shoulders was a shawl made of raye cloth. Normally, the striped material was worn as a hood to brand prostitutes but Darcy was impressed by this woman’s ingenuity. Obviously, this woman was not one who dallied with the common man if the fine detail of her clothing was any indication. Her eyes were a sharp, piercing blue and her beautiful blond locks tumbled down her shoulders and to her waist. Although she was quite comely with full lips and fair skin, the puckered look on her face took away from her beauty. She appeared to glide with an innate sense of sensuality that Darcy knew she’d never achieve. 

“Oh Brock, I see you’ve found yourself a pretty young maid,” the woman said, voice trilling high, aim obviously to be alluring to Brock. It clashed with the expression she fixed on Darcy, making her look as if she’d just smelled something rotten. Darcy crossed her arms and stared right back with an unimpressed glance, refusing to let this woman try and shame her for no reason other than unfounded jealousy. In the back of her head, she thought she heard a growl but decided it was just a buzzing she used to hear when angry as a little girl. Although Darcy thought Brock was being a right toad lately, she still sort of saw him as _her_ toad. The realization of this confused her because it didn’t make much logic but now wasn’t time to dwell on the details. If Brock wanted to dally with whores, he could do so at his leisure even if the idea made Darcy’s blood boil. As long as she didn’t have to be dragged into it and could berate him afterwards to her heart’s content. 

“Bernice,” Brock said in a reprimanding tone but the woman ignored it and he frowned. 

“If you miss a woman with tricks up her sleeve, you know where to find me,” Bernice purred, swinging up her shawl so that it hooked around Brock’s neck. She used it to try and pull him down for a kiss but all the while, not taking her hawklike eyes off Darcy. 

“Please, you’re free to have him,” Darcy snorted, causing the woman to frown in confusion. Once distracted, Brock used the opportunity to untangle himself from the shawl. “I’d rather kiss his horse than put up with his unpleasant moods. In fact, if you really miss him that much, maybe you should marry him. He’s enough room in his hut and I’m sure the wife of a blacksmith is a step above the life of a small village whore.” 

“ _Darcy_ ,” Brock warned the same time Bernice let out a gasp of indignation. Just as Brock began to make his way to stand between the two women, Bernice raised her hand and slammed down to slap Darcy. Faster than Darcy realized she was capable of, she grabbed the woman’s wrist before it could make contact. Shock registered in both women’s eyes but Darcy found her strength quickly. Anger burst forward just as fast.

“If you ever lay a hand on me, it will be the last thing you do,” Darcy growled, feeling it reverberate in her chest. Fear flashed through Bernice’s eyes as Darcy tightened her grip, earning a whimper. It felt freeing to have an outlet for the anger that had been mounting her entire life. Almost cruel, given Bernice’s only issue with Darcy was a case of mistaken ownership over a blacksmith but at least Darcy had gained control over _something_. The anger morphed and made way for another feeling that she couldn’t quite name. Darcy’s heart started to pound and her insides fluttered. Her chest continued to rumble with a growl and it seeped into her bones. “Brock is not your property and you will not act as if he is. If you suggest otherwise and I hear about it, I will-”

“ _Darcy_ ,” Brock pleaded, cutting her off but the voice sounded far away. Warm hands gripped her waist and the growling ceased immediately. Brock said her name again but this time, it was softer, sweeter. The scent of woodsmoke and cloves tickled her nose and her shoulders relaxed. Letting go of Bernice, Darcy watched the woman run away. A bit of pleasure swelled up, replacing the fluttering. Brock pulled her back so she lay against his chest. She could feel his deep breaths, in and out, with the movement of his chest and her heart eventually slowed to a normal beat that matched his. 

“Aren’t you going to run after the future Lady Blacksmith of the Northern Picts?” Darcy mumbled. If she sounded petulant, Brock didn’t seem to take notice or simply didn’t care. A headache was beginning to grip her temples and she really could do with a nap.  

“And risk you ripping out her throat?” Brock asked, though it sounded more of a statement and there may have been a tone of pride in it. 

“I didn’t do it to defend you. She just angered me,” Darcy insisted, trying to wriggle out of Brock’s hold but he held on tightly, wrapping his arms around her waist. She liked it and a shiver ran down her spine when Brock placed his lips next to her ear. “Whilst I do not judge a woman by her profession, I will gladly judge her on her rude actions towards a stranger. Acting as if I was the root of her problems when I would rather have nothing to do with you.”

“It didn’t look like that from what I saw. Though, I appreciate your attempts to save my reputation from utter ruin,” Brock teased. Darcy wanted to turn her head to see what it felt like to have his lips so close to hers. At that thought, she knew she needed to move away. 

“Your reputation is beyond utter ruin. The Pope himself couldn’t save it,” Darcy said, elbowing Brock lightly in the side. He let her go but kept a hand on her elbow so she couldn’t get far. Instead of fighting, Darcy just set her focus on his chest. She didn’t want to look into his face. She was worried of what she’d see. “I don’t know why I said those things to her. About you and property and what not. I don’t know why I said any of it.” 

“I’m sorry. For the way I’ve acted these past few weeks. I’m afraid I’ve been out of sorts,” Brock admitted softly. Looking up sharply, Darcy searched his face for any signs of lying but didn’t find any. He appeared sincere and it caught her completely off guard. 

“I suppose I’m also sorry. For annoying you and...scaring off your future wife,” Darcy said suspiciously, earning a snort from Brock. The apology was not one she’d ever expect to hear from him and she was quite certain he had some sort of trick up his sleeve to follow. He let go of her elbow and she took a small step back. 

“I have to admit that I’ve quite enjoyed seeing you ruffled up and might have been doing my best to keep you thus. You shouldn’t make it so easy for me,” Brock teased.  

“So, you like your women angry?” Darcy scoffed, crossing her arms and feeling a little more like her normal self. “That does not bode well for your future wife.” 

“She’ll just have to be able to keep me in line,” said Brock with a shrug and small smile. There was a warmth in his eyes that Darcy found she quite liked. 

“Well, whoever she is, I wish her the strength and patience of a saint. Also, you need to find other hobbies instead of annoying unsuspecting victims.”  

“Perhaps my victims should be careful on looking so pretty when prickled,” Brock said, trying to fight off a grin.

“And perhaps you should stop pricking everything in a dress ‘fore you anger another tender heart. I’d hate to make another woman jealous enough to strike me again all because I’m standing next to you. I’ve better things to do that argue with someone full of hot air,” Darcy said haughtily, bringing her affections back to Silvermane when she felt the animal nudge at her shoulder.  

“Like braid manes and dance half naked in the fields?” Brock offered, voice close to a hedonistic rumble. 

At the suggestion, Darcy turned her head back to Brock to find a smug look on his face as he tried very poorly to stop himself from smirking. Heat bloomed on Darcy’s cheeks as she realized that Brock had very likely seen Darcy dancing about in her shift as she braided flowers into her horse’s tail and mane. It’s something she’d often done through the years after a wade in the creek but was also quite certain she’d never been spied upon. 

“That’s a terrible thing, to spy on someone’s private time,” Darcy hissed, looking around them and ensuring all that passed were too busy in their own lives to listen to her concerns.  

“It’s not private time if you’re naked for all to see,” Brock warned softly, leaning in so only Darcy could hear him. “Besides, I did warn you many times to be careful about what hides in the woods. Maybe now you’ll be more wary, as you should.” 

“Obviously, the only dangerous thing wandering around in those woods is you. I’m quite immune to your charms, so I’ve nothing to fear.”

“Nothing to fear? Brave words uttered by fools,” said Brock sagely. 

“I’ve simply have more worrying matters to concern myself with. I choose to fear something that can actually do me harm,” Darcy said. 

“Are you saying I can’t do you harm?” Brock asked, tone raising slightly at the insult he seemed to think it was.  

“You’ve yet to give me reason to think you would. Most of the time you seem to ignore me. Why should I fear that? My father’s ignored me for most of my years and now that he’s garnered some interest, my life has become terribly complicated. It would be a dream if all men ignored me for they only cause trouble for whatever sparks their interest. Now, if you please, I shall go find my grandmother. You can go back to ignoring me or even beg on your knees to Bernice to forgive you. Either suits me quite fine,” Darcy announced, beginning to turn away but Brock reached out and grabbed her wrist gently. A shock of heat ran up her arm and she pulled out of his hold but didn’t walk away. 

“Perhaps I don’t ignore you half as much as you think. Some men have the ability to exert quite a bit of self control. Once in a while,” Brock said, face full of yearning. Despite his words promising control, his shoulders were tense and he looked like he was about to pounce on her.   

“Then I’ll bask in your superior control for the rest of the summer, only wailing once it’s over that I shall never meet a man like you ever again. Would that make you happy?” Darcy asked, lump back in her throat. Brock took a step to close the distance she had made in her efforts to escape. Although she should have taken two steps back for each of his, she found herself rooted to the ground.

“You couldn’t begin to know what would make me happy,” Brock said softly, voice low and full of need. Pain flashed through his eyes and the string she imagined that twined their chests pulsed. Darcy’s chest cinched and her throat felt raw all of a sudden. Brock lightly gripped on a lock of her hair, twirling it twice around his finger then tugging until it slid off. It sent a shiver down Darcy’s spine and her heart beat wildly in her ears. Darcy decided it was certainly time to find her grandmother. With a final pat to Silvermane’s neck, she turned to walk away, flicking her hair away from his grasp.

“Well, if I’m ever curious, I’ll knock on your door,” Darcy called over her shoulder. Something light and exciting pumped through her veins instead of the dread that Darcy assumed would have weighed her down after such an interaction. 

“Daughters of Barons shouldn’t go looking for trouble behind doors. Especially when wolves are waiting on the other side,” Brock called after her in that enigmatic tone he used when he was imparting what he thought were wise words. Normally, now Darcy had become to realize, they were just odd bits of nonsense. 

“I’ll look for whatever I please. You’re not my husband,” Darcy laughed. 

“If I were your husband, I’d be gray headed after one day.” 

“But you’d probably be much less cross,” Darcy said in a sing-song voice. She was not completely certain she knew why she said that or even fully what she meant by it. In fact, she half regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. That appeared to be a terrible habit she was forming whenever she spoke to him. Speaking nonsense without thought.  

Although curious, Darcy thought it best not to look back to see what Brock’s reaction was. Already, she could feel his gaze burning between her shoulder blades and twisting her insides. Darcy wondered if his eyes were heated or if his brow was furrowed in confusion. Instead of giving into temptation, she skipped all the way to her grandmother and giggled a little bit too. 

 


	6. What Kind Eyes You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, love to you readers! Thanks for being patient! <3

Whatever Brock admired about Darcy’s shameful outburst, made him much more amiable as a person. Darcy wasn’t sure if she should be praised for her behavior but she wasn’t going to argue. Now Brock participated in conversations with her, no matter how silly, with full sentences. It was much more interesting than the occasional grunt of indifference. Most of the time, Darcy still sought Brock out first but on occasion, he would visit grandmother’s home if she’d been waylaid in visiting him. Perhaps she was playing with fire. Seeking Brock when he truly was the only thing in these woods she should fear, but he was also the only exciting thing nearby. Although Darcy didn’t want to admit it, she liked the strange feelings he elicited out of her and wanted to know if she could do the same to him. There were times she could feel his gaze following her as she poked around his home, tracing a finger over unfinished swords and tools. Normally, she would not take it heart; assume it was just a man watching to make sure she didn’t break anything. Still, a niggling voice would tell her to sway her hips just a little bit more or arch her neck just so.

Of course, one of the reasons that Darcy secretly enjoyed Brock’s new found interest was that it was a distraction, but for something other than her impending marriage. Ever since their return from the market, Darcy had been having strange dreams. Silly at first when she turned into a howling wolf and ran through the woods. Laughable when the second night, she swam in a moonlit stream and nipped the feet of rabbits for fun. She stopped laughing when she killed a deer. When the howls became sorrowful snarls at the moon. Soon, the dreams felt so real she began to doubt they were just in her head. They lingered into the dawn and whispered like a breeze at the back of her neck throughout the day. When she closed her eyes, sometimes she could still hear the soft tread of her paws on the ground and feel the wind tickling her coat.

Now in the morning, Darcy checked her feet and hands for signs of dirt or for blood down her face. Obviously, it was all in her head. Women didn’t become wolves. With all of the control she thought she had over her life slipping through her fingers, it made sense that Darcy dreamt of being an animal that didn’t heed her father’s demands. Dreams were just one’s secret desires and fears. At least, that’s what Jane had told her. The things one was too afraid to utter into life. Yet, Darcy wasn’t sure if she was afraid and she supposed that was what really scared her in a way. Shouldn’t she be afraid of the rage that emerged when she closed her eyes? Women didn’t welcome growling predators that ate up livestock and killed people. But when Darcy fell asleep, she felt as if she were welcoming back an old friend. What was one supposed to make of that?

Instead of dwelling on this, Darcy would much rather annoy Brock. Which actually was getting a little harder now that he offered her the time of day and his opinion. It was dangerous when he engaged her because Darcy found she rather liked him more when he wasn’t grumpy. He also had stories to rival her grandmother, all about the men he once knew and the ridiculous things they would get up to in times of peace and war. Every time Brock made her laugh, he’d get this goofy smile on his face and try to fight it off by focusing on blacksmith work. Sometimes, Darcy would make Brock laugh. His laughter had the roots of a growl in them and she could practically feel it rumble in his chest even if she was a distance away. There were moments she couldn’t fully explain when they were together. Her body was swept with emotion. It started as a warm feeling in her heart that slowly filled her blood with rising heat. An eagerness that sent energy in her bones. And on occasion, she would catch Brock’s eye when she felt this feeling permeating her soul and for just a second, she was sure he felt the same thing.

Darcy wished she felt that way about Ian because if she did, she supposed that marriage wouldn’t seem so terrible an idea.

 

* * *

 

“Have you ever been married?” Darcy asked as Brock took reprieve from sharpening a sword. It was another overly warm day, the sun shining bright and not a cloud in the sky. Darcy could feel beads of sweat form on her back and drip down. Overall, she was sure she was a sorry sight. Hair frizzing and face red and damp. She’d already worn her thinnest kirtle and left her cloak at grandmother’s but damp fabric still clung to her skin. Once she was finished with the noon meal, Darcy vowed to head to the stream and cool off.

For now, she sat on a lidded barrel, legs dangling down the side and swinging every so often. Although it put her directly under the sun, she still liked how it kept her vantage point a little higher. Normally, Brock kept the barrel open to catch rain for filling the small quench cask he kept by the anvil. She found it rather entertaining to watch him using the water to cool down his creations. Darcy had taken to putting the lid back on the barrel and using a wayward log piece as a step to sit on her new chair. Brock had yet to complain about her brilliance and constant disregard for his space.

As she chattered on, she watched Brock sharpen a sword with precision and care. Almost all of the weapons and shields requested by the soldiers were completed and Brock estimated they would travel down for them soon. Each item was exquisite in its own rite and Darcy had to admit that Brock was a rather good blacksmith. It was fun to watch him work through rain and warmth. Today, despite the heat, he’d opted to keep his shirt on. It had grown damp and lightly clung to his broad back and chest. Honestly, Darcy wasn’t sure why he bothered to keep it on. She also wasn’t entirely sure why she was so concerned about it.

Ignoring the long silence after her question and her ever-growing ponderings if Brock would ever let her get a better look at the wolves on his back, Darcy turned her attention back to the basket in her lap. A small pile of mulberries lined the bottom along with a fresh loaf of bread and some cheese. As always, Bucky’s dagger lay in the basket, almost hidden by the fare. During the past few days, Darcy had developed a steady routine. She’d wander off in the mornings to explore the forests and fields for fruits, vegetables or herbs. Around noon, she’d bring a small meal to share with Brock until the worst of the sun’s heat passed. Then she’d spend the rest of the day with her grandmother, learning more things on best keeping a stock of herbs. Occasionally, she’d wander off at dusk to bid a good evening to Brock until he shooed her off. He always seemed grumpier to see her when the sun set though, so she’d started to reconsider.

A calloused hand grabbed a mulberry from her basket and Darcy looked up in surprise. She watched Brock wink as he popped the fruit into his mouth. His hair and the front of his shirt were soaking with water he used to clean off dust and charcoal that normally stained his skin after a few hours of work. Now the fabric clung to the lines of muscle on his chest. Her cheeks heated and it wasn’t because of the sun’s rays.

“I cannot say I’ve had the pleasure,” Brock said, “of being married, that is.”

“You say that with all the excitement of a man being told he is to be drawn and quartered at dawn,” Darcy snorted, tearing off a piece of bread and handing it over to Brock, along with a nice hunk of cheese. Taking a large bite of bread, followed by cheese, Brock shrugged and chewed carefully. He looked down the road, as if waiting for something but Darcy had a feeling he was just trying to avoid her gaze. He’d been doing more of that lately.

“What is marriage but a man and woman deciding that they are more profitable together? Whether through a dowry or combined labor,” said Brock with a shrug, voice distant.

“I suppose,” Darcy let out an exhausted whine and nibbled on her cheese. Brock turned back towards her and offered a raised eyebrow.

“I thought you were firmly against marriage. Why so sad to hear I have never entered into the obligation? Are you not looking for sage advice on how to escape?” Brock asked with a small, amused smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The teasing sentiment was appreciated, though. As Darcy ran out of viable ideas, she was feeling rather bleak about her destiny. It was nice to see someone at least trying to make her laugh. Grandmother just said strange and occasionally foreboding things whenever Darcy hemmed and hawed. “Perhaps you should try and ugly yourself up. Your groom would take one look at you and run in the other direction.”

“Honestly, that sounds like the best idea,” Darcy said, a bitter laugh bubbling up. “Though I’m not quite sure his father would let him. My dowery is quite large since my father kept raising it in hopes of ensnaring a husband for me. I’m quite strange and willful, don’t you know? It’s rather disconcerting for most men.”   

“For men who’d rather toil away in their castles, perhaps. One man’s strange and willful is another’s enchanting and capable,” Brock said boldly but from the slight widening of his eyes, furrow of his brow and the pursing of his lips, Darcy had the feeling he’d said more than he’d had intended. As he turned away, once again interested on the empty path and the food in his hands, Darcy chewed on her lip. Normally, she’d pounce on his slip of tongue and tease him but instead, she just let a mix of uncertainty and devotion swell in her chest.

“Perhaps I’ll run away instead. Though, I fear I do not have many skills to provide for myself. Do you think that’s why my father allowed me to roam the forests like a hoyden in the summer? So I couldn’t learn to fend for myself?” Darcy mused aloud. Her shoulders sunk down. She felt like a rock was tied to her feet and she was thrown into the middle of a lake. “I have the skills of a lady but none of the discipline. I have not been hardened by years working in fields or with livestock. What else can I do but depend on a man for my well being?”

Standing up a little taller, Brock’s shoulders stiffened as he listened to her words and she could see chords standing out on his neck. A flash of anger rushed through her and she found she liked it better than the sadness. Something tickled her throat, as if an unbidden sound itched to escape. Something inside her told her to fight for what she wanted, even if she didn’t entirely know how to.  

“Sometimes I dream I’m a wolf,” Darcy admitted, looking back down to the mulberries in her basket. The cheese suddenly tasted like ash in her mouth and she placed it back into the cloth wrapping. She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this. She’d not even told her grandmother of her dreams. Darcy’s heart began to beat faster and she worried it was trying to escape all together. “That I’m free and running through the forests. I wish I _were_ a wolf. Then I wouldn’t have to try and come up with an underhanded method of avoiding a marriage I don’t want but appear to have been trained for nonetheless. How silly is that? To wish I was a wolf.”

“There’s nothing silly about wishing for your freedom,” Brock said softly. Looking up at his gentle tone, Darcy saw Brock had fixed her with a concern filled gaze. He’d finished his food but a glint of hunger flashed across his face. It sent a pleased warmth down her body and rested at the crest of her thighs. Her skin began to itch all over. “Many a man does so and is not laughed in return. Perhaps reminded of how unfair life is but I have met many men of lower stock who turned ash into a better life. Why not a baron’s daughter?”  

“What better a life than that of a baron’s daughter? I think many would scold me for my thinking. I have so much yet still complain I do not get my way,” Darcy shrugged but she was interested in the determined look Brock now set her with. “Is freedom on an empty stomach and a cold hearth better than a gilded cage?”

“Come here,” Brock commanded, taking two large steps so that he was right in front of Darcy. She let out a small, breathy gasp when he placed his hands on her waist. Before she could marvel at how his touch sent more heat down towards her thighs, Brock lifted her up and set her back on her feet as if she weighed no more than the basket in her hands. “I do not like your sudden melancholy. If you’re going to chatter incessantly, it should be the inane musing of a naive maiden.”

“I thought you hated my inane musings? I assumed you’d prefer my downcast change,” Darcy challenged and the corner of Brock’s lips tugged up but he kept his face stern. “Besides, I can’t be cheerful all the time. Blind faith in what I had hoped was an alternate destiny takes its toll.”

“Nonetheless, you are far too young to have wrinkles of concern,” Brock challenged and Darcy snorted at the kind thought. Brock had not stepped away from her and they were standing less than a half step apart. She found that her skin did not itch as much when he was this close. Not sure if she was comfortable with what that could mean, Darcy gripped the handle of her basket tightly so that it dug into her palm.

“Many women have quite a few children by my age. As a spinster, I think it would be appropriate for me to have a few wrinkles.”

“Enough of this,” Brock said, letting out a huff of frustration at her inability to not argue. Clasping her free hand gently in his, Darcy found herself successfully silenced for the first time. Her entire body heated up and somehow a shiver ran down her back at the same time. She found she rather liked it.

If Brock noticed her reaction, he chose to ignore it in favor of dragging her down the path. They were heading towards her grandmother’s and for a moment, she assumed he’d decided to just deposit her with someone else. When they were halfway down the path, he turned and continued into the forest.

“Where are you taking me?” Darcy asked, curiosity tempering her irritation at his silence. She supposed it would make sense if she were afraid but she couldn’t find the emotion whenever she was with Brock. Oddly enough, she thought she could hear a snicker in the back of her head at the very thought. Perhaps she was a foolish woman. Or her father had failed to instil a healthy dose of fear into her.  

“Off to find that fairy ring of yours. Let us see if we can find the fae people and ask if they have a solution to your problems that do not involve selling off your first born or dancing until you die,” Brock said and Darcy’s brow rose. A flair of excitement flickered in her gut. She almost stumbled over a small stone but caught herself before she fell.

“Are you telling me you believe my story? About the fairy I saw when I was a little girl?”

“No,” said Brock simply and Darcy let out a huff. Of course he was teasing. The big oaf. He let out an exaggerated half-suffering sigh and continued. “But if it will put a smile on your face to talk to imaginary creatures and offer them dances, then I suppose I will have to endure the pain of it all.”

“ _Really_?” Darcy asked in complete shock. It was such a...sweet gesture. One she didn’t think he was capable of such an offer, despite his insistence that it would be hell on earth for him. A tender warmth filled her chest and her stomach felt like it was full of fluttering butterflies.

“Yes and only because there is no one in this village that will believe I let you put a flower crown on my head,” Brock said and Darcy grinned. She was pretty sure her grandmother would believe it but she decided to leave it be. As excited as she was by the prospect of crowning him the blacksmith king of the forest, she knew better than to push him on the matter. Taking a few large steps, Darcy was able to stand next to Brock and did her best to keep up with his pace. She tugged on his hand and he turned to her, concern lining his face and his grip loosening. Instead of letting go, she took the opportunity to lace their fingers together. A smile lifted Brock’s lips and Darcy was sure she saw a hint of a blush on his cheeks. With a squeeze of his hand, Brock continued to lead them through the forest in silence but they enjoyed a shared peace that hummed through both of their bones.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed by in a pleasant blur. Although they did not find the fairy ring, Brock led Darcy to a field she’d often squander the days in. They sat under the shade of a tree, laughing and talking about things that mattered little but also meant the world. Brock allowed Darcy to place _one_ flower crown on his head, which he allowed to stay atop his head for most of the day. Buzzing bees lazily made their trips to wildflowers and Brock named off birds just by listening to their calls. No more talk of marriages and escape was uttered because Darcy forgot about her concerns as she studied the dark stubble lining Brock’s chin and the way he pushed back his hair whenever he wanted to get a better look at her. She enjoyed the way his eyes appeared to soften as she laughed and his wicked grin when trying telling her outrageous stories of his past. What she liked even more was the sound of his laugh. Deep and free as she told stories of her own childhood skylarking. It send tiny little shivers down her back and there were time she thought that Brock may have noticed.

The one thing she _didn’t_ like was how his hand seemed in reach of her ankle but he always thought better of it as soon as his fingers dared to inch forward. So, she plucked a red poppy flower and brushed the bloom over his knuckles. She continued to do this despite every time he flicked it away. Finally, his body tensed and he leaned forward, eyes on the flower as if crouching for a pounce. Instead of allowing him to take the poppy from her, Darcy stood up and ran, letting out a thrilled laugh when he took chase. The flower flew out of her head and her crown was lost to the brush of the forest floor. Even though he might have easily caught her, Brock let her run ahead as she screamed in glee all along the way. Darcy stopped once she saw the top of her grandmother’s house through the trees. As she leaned against a sturdy oak to catch her breath, she heard Brock stop a few paces away and let out a low chuckle. Butterflies swarmed inside her and she thought she might fly.

The sun now dipped below the tops of the trees. Pinks, reds and oranges filled the sky. All colors of the flowers on the crown that Brock had taken to clenching in his hand during his chase. The forest was quiet and Darcy could just make out her grandmother singing hymns as she finished cooking the evening meal.

“Now that I have led you safely to your grandmother’s, I must wish you a good evening,” Brock said, voice rough with a quality Darcy didn’t recognise. It made her her heart thrum against her ribs even though she’d already caught her breath.

“Is that what you’d call that?” Darcy asked, pushing away from the tree. A childish grin lit Brock’s face and his eyes were filled with the same joy that filled Darcy’s chest.

Before she could change her mind for the better, Darcy stood up on her toes and kissed Brock on the cheek. His stubble scratched her lips but she could still feel his warm skin underneath. The distinct smell of cloves and smoke filled her senses. A burst of exhilaration filled her heart and filled her blood with heat. Brock’s hands moved to lay on her hips the moment Darcy’s heels rocked back to the ground. A touch that was barely there but made her heart lodge in her throat nonetheless. In her mind’s eye, she imagined him wrapping his arms tightly around her and showing her what a real kiss was like. Except instead of pulling her tight against his body, Brock dropped his head closer to her neck and inhaled deeply.

Darcy knew he wanted more. She knew he wanted to take her into his arms and never let go, to nuzzle his face into her neck and let out a sigh of contentment. Darcy wanted it too but only felt a cool breeze tickle the edges of her skirt when Brock took a step back. Disappointment hurt like a wasp’s sting as Brock’s normal grim expression descended upon his features. Without another word, Darcy watched Brock’s figure disappear into the thick copse of oaks and ash trees. For a moment, she let the sting engulf her body. Yet, as she remembered their chaste kiss, she let out a breathy giggle before running in to help her grandmother. That evening between stories, grandmother teased Darcy about the giddy smile on her face but Darcy didn’t mind one bit.


	7. What Soft Lips You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...amongst other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been wonderful with all your comments! The muses have been kind to me lately so enjoy another chapter! <3 <3

That night, Darcy did not dream she was a wolf. Instead, she dreamt she was a little girl again. She lay in her big bed at grandmother’s and waited for her nightly bedtime story from grandfather. Although she loved grandmother’s stories, it was a treat when grandfather offered her one. He talked about worlds she never could imagine and of creatures full of wonder. Grandfather told Darcy what was safe to eat from the earth and what to avoid. He told her how to respect the animals hidden in the forests and to listen to their cries. Everyone had something to contribute and a kingdom should be built off the love of its people, not off their backs. She thought he taught her the last one was because he didn’t like her father so much but Darcy thinks he only misses her mom.

There was always a lesson in his stories, even if she didn’t always understand them. But most important of all, he told her to never be afraid. He told her the forest would protect her, which she thought was a silly thing to say. What can the forest do for a little girl if there were mean monsters hiding in its shadows, waiting to gobble her whole?   

The full moon shone bright through the window, leaving a line of gold light on her thick blanket. After growing tired of waiting for her grandfather, Darcy decided to look out the window and search for shooting stars. Grandmother said that you can wish on them and sometimes your wishes come true. Darcy isn’t sure what she should wish for. She wished enough for her mother to come back but she’d realised that might not happen. As Darcy looked out the window and at the twinkling night sky, she closed her eyes and thought real hard about a wish. Instead, she when she opened her eyes, she saw a small orb of yellow light dancing on the window sill.  

A small gasp left her throat when upon closer inspection, the light turned out to be a glowing little woman. The redheaded woman was beautiful with wings like a dragonfly that twinkled with all the colors of dew at dawn. She smiled at Darcy and offered a wink. It _must_ be a fairy! Her sister, Jane, always insisted they didn’t exist but Peggy told Darcy she could believe in whatever she wanted. If only they were here to see this.

When Darcy remembered her manners, she stepped back and curtsied, just like her stepmother had showed her. The fairy seemed to appreciate the thought and whispered something back. Except Darcy didn’t understand it. It sounded like no language she’d ever heard and she was being taught both Latin _and_ French. The fairy didn’t seem to mind. It floated up into the air and made a slow path towards her door, which opened without any assistance. Stopping at the open door, the fairy turned back and said something else. Darcy assumed it meant the fairy wanted her to follow when she gestured with her tiny arm.

So, Darcy did.

As they walked outside the cottage and down the path, the fairy sang the most beautiful song Darcy had ever heard. She tried to hum along, even if she didn’t get all the notes right. The fairy sang the same words over and over, in different ways but Darcy eventually learned to repeat some of them.

“Lean mise bànrigh bheag,” Darcy sang with the fairy, “madaidhean-allaidh a 'leantainn bhànrigh aca .”

The more they sang together, the more jovial the fairy became. She flew and wove through the trees of the forest and giggled through the night. All the while, Darcy skipped behind and did her best to keep up. The further into the forest they went, the faster the fairy flew. They laughed together as they sang, forgetting about the story her grandfather was supposed to tell and the men her father wanted her to marry.

That was a strange thought. Marriage. Darcy wasn’t sure where that came from, especially since she was only eight and her father said he’d promised her mother that Darcy could marry for love. He told her that she was a princess and deserved a prince, but she should never repeat that to anyone because the King wouldn’t be happy to hear that.

A deep voice called out Darcy’s name and she stopped dancing. When she looked about, all she saw were more glowing orbs forming from mid-air. Each one was a fairy and they joined in on the song until it drowned out the voice of the man. All the fairies’ voices rose and hummed, swayed and harmonized. They danced in the air and Darcy joined them. She spun and spun until her hair flew out around her and her night shift hiked up her legs. She sang with the fairies and watched as they swarmed around her, like they were trying to engulf her into a crashing wave.

Yet, a niggling voice in the back of her mind begged her to wake up. From what, she wasn’t sure. A man called out her name and the rumbling of his voice caused her heart to skip a beat. The fairies still danced around her and they showed no signs of hearing this man. Looking around, Darcy couldn’t seem to find him but he sounded quite worried. Her heart sank and she wasn’t sure why. Now, standing completely still amongst the frenzied fae, Darcy watched as they dance and sang. They were celebrating but she wasn’t sure what and why.

Suddenly, the red headed fairy floated a yard away from Darcy. The look on her face was mischievous as she reached out a tiny hand.

“Follow me little Queen, follow me again,” the fairy sang in a low and almost menacing tone. Darcy let out a muffled sound of surprise at how the fairy could speak in English. “You can find your way inside the dark wolf’s den.”  

Before Darcy could ask what the fairy meant, the fairy’s hand touched Darcy’s forehead, and she woke with a shuttering gasp.

 

* * *

 

When Darcy opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of a ring of mushrooms. Waking felt as if a cold, bucket of winter water had been poured over her head, chilling her to the bone. The waxing moon shone high but clouds quickly gathered in the sky. It was perhaps three nights away from a full moon. Even without the moon’s light, Darcy would have realised from her chattering teeth that she stood in only her thinnest shift. She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down skin for warmth. Rain was coming. She could smell it in the air and earth.

A thick fabric was thrown around her and Darcy’s body stiffened in fear. Was someone trying to steal her away? For the first time since she could remember, Darcy was afraid in the woods. She grit her teeth before shouting, “Stand back, fiend!”  

“Good, you’re awake and obviously in your normal temper,” Brock said, voice colored with humour but underneath concern dwelled. Relief washed over Darcy. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes briefly, trying to get her heartbeat to slow. Brock moved to stand in front of her, hands gripped on her upper arms as if he was worried she would disappear completely. He frowned when he felt her chilled skin.

“What happened?” Darcy asked. Sleep still lingered in her eyes and she rubbed the sand away. The last thing she remembered was waiting for a bedtime story. Grandfather had promised her a story but... her grandfather was dead. The image of a tiny, little glowing fairy that looked very much like the one she saw in this very ring many years ago, flashed in Darcy’s mind.

“I think you were trying to join the fairies in their evening dance,” teased Brock but his usual goading tone fell flat. Darcy tugged the fabric closer to her body. It was a rough wool and she could just make out the dark green, blue and brown lines. She didn’t remember ever seeing it in his hut before but she recognised the pattern as a plaid. A signifier of clans from the north. “I saw you wandering the forest- half naked, again, mind you. I thought to follow you in case you truly got yourself into trouble. I’d hoped to gloat once you realised my ignored advice was worthwhile. When you did not answer me, I realised you were dream walking.”

“Dream walking?” Darcy repeated, wrinkling her nose lightly in confusion. She’d never heard of such a thing.

“Yes. Uncommon but I have seen it before. A gentleman in the clan would, on occasion, dream so deep that he would travel the village in a slumber. It was generally amusing and harmless as he’d just wake up amongst some annoyed sheep,” said Brock as he let go of Darcy’s shoulders. She grew colder without the innocent touch but her cheeks flushed when she took in his appearance. He wore a thin shirt and breeches. Similar to the night he first found her here. A hard, cold wind picked up and goose skin covered Darcy’s bare legs. Hundreds of pin pricks burned along the skin. When she looked down, she saw long, thin scratches covering her lower legs and dirt cloying to the small open wounds. Obviously, she’d not stopped to put on shoes before ‘dream walking’.

“Oh, I must not have felt that,” Darcy admitted softly. She curled her toes into the soft moss and a sharp twinge clenched her muscles. It was a strange circumstance, to be sure, but Darcy didn’t know what to make of it. She followed a fairy in her dreams into the very mushroom ring she and Brock had been unable to find on their own. “How did you find me? Why were you out in the forest at night? Aren’t you afraid of the beasts you insist live here?”

“You forgot your basket. I remembered just as I began to settle for bed. It felt like rain was approaching and I went to retrieve it for you,” Brock answered honestly. It warmed Darcy from her stomach, right down to her fingertips and toes. When he noticed her silly little smile, he let out a huff as if he were embarrassed to be caught in such a chivalrous act. Her hands tightened on the plaid around her shoulders and she shot him another questioning gaze. He cleared his throat but continued in a low mumble. “I thought, it was turning out to be such a chilly night, that you could use the plaid for warmth.”

“And you were fully intent on knocking on my door, even though my grandmother had long past fallen asleep?” Darcy asked coyly. As much as Darcy knew she shouldn't be excited at the prospect, pleasure struck her heart like a bolt of lightning. It caused her heart to skip a beat and blood rushed to the crest of her thighs when he grinned like a wolf about to catch an unawares rabbit in his jaws.

“You say that with all the excitement of a woman who wants a strange man to knock on her door, especially once her grandmother has long past fallen asleep,” Brock said, crossing his arms with and a cocksure smile twisting his lips.

“Well, it’s never happened to me before. It’s...nice to have a slightly different adventure,” Darcy said, cheeks heating. She looked down at her feet, trying to avoid Brock’s gaze for fear she might reveal something she’d later regret. Though, now she was standing in the middle of the forest without any shoes or dress, she supposed pride had been left behind quite a few paces back.

“I should hope next time you have a midnight adventure, you avoid the brambles,” Brock said with a soft sigh, eyes dropping down to her feet. “You’ll need to wash out the dirt. They look shallow but you don’t want to risk a fever.”

“Grandmother has a salve I can use when I get back,” Darcy mumbled with a frown, brow wrinkling slightly in concern. “Now that I’m awake, I can be a little more careful walking back.”

“Come,” Brock said after a long beat, voice resigned and determined. “I’ll take you to the stream.”

Before Darcy could insist that they had fresh water at her grandmother’s, Brock stepped forward and scooped her up into his arms. She inhaled sharply and still found herself breathless. Brock held her as if she were a light, precious bundle. Her head naturally lay against his chest and shoulder. Heat radiated off him like a roaring fire and she closed her eyes as she let it seep into her skin. A gentle calm swept over her the moment he cradled her in his arms. All urge to argue dispersed like smoke.

“I followed a fairy,” Darcy said wistfully as Brock made his way out of the mushroom ring. “In my dreams, I was following a fairy. I think they wanted me to dance with them.”

“Did they offer any advice for your predicaments?” Brock asked and he sounded as if he were trying to dampen his own curiosity. For a moment, Darcy hesitated. The fairy said something about a wolf’s den. At first, she thought it was her mind jumbling her thoughts about her grandfather and her fading memories. But now she was in Brock’s arms, Darcy wondered if there was something more to Jane’s insistence that dreams were sometimes the way for the unconscious to help when one was too thick headed during waking hours.

“No,” Darcy eventually answered. Suspicion flashed across Brock’s face but he didn’t press her. A tiny, impish giggle caught Darcy’s attention. She arched back her neck so that she could see behind Brock. They had already left the mushroom ring and were just about to reenter the heavily wooded forest but a small orb of light now floated in the middle of the circle. Biting her lip to hold in her gasp of shock, Darcy blinked. When her eyes opened, the light had disappeared. Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she wondered if she just imagined the entire thing.

They walked in silence towards the stream. Darcy chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated the fairies of her dream. Did the fairies actually want her to join the fae world? Would they have succeeded if Brock hadn’t intervened and did she even still want that? Surely, dancing with the fairies till the end of her days would surely solve her unwanted marriage. But now that she was snuggled against Brock’s chest, she can’t help but consider death by blistered feet and exhaustion didn’t hold as much appeal. Maybe that’s what they truly wanted to show her: a life with the fae was not Darcy’s destiny. Her destiny was possibly a little bit closer than she realized.

Once they reached the muddy, rocky edge of the slow stream, Brock set Darcy down gradually. She gingerly made her way into the water, crawling down mossy rocks and grabbing onto visible roots for support. The water was not freezing but the cool air did not help matters. The little cuts along her legs stung but she continued deeper into the shallow stream. When the water was mid-calf and the highest it would reach, she balled up the plaid and tossed it in Brock’s face. He let out an amused snort as he caught the fabric. Darcy proceeded to cup the water and pour it down her knees, gently brushing away the dirt and dried blood. When she was satisfied that she’d done all she could, Darcy walked back to the stream’s edge. Her eyes were focused on where she stepped as she tried to avoid slipping on the smooth, mossy rocks lining the stream.

Back on the shore where grass met damp earth, Darcy’s head rose and caught Brock’s blatant stare. His body was stock still but his muscles flexed and his eyes were fixed on her figure. The moon’s light shone above her and with her thin shift, the fabric was just about transparent. Liquid heat pooled in places she knew no true lady would admit to and Darcy’s skin tingled with a pleasant buzz. Instead of using her arms to shield her body, Darcy took another step forward and met Brock’s gaze with brazenness.

Air escaped quickly from Brock’s chest in a low hiss. For a few beats, his eyes appeared transfixed by her curves, but then a wicked grin transformed his face into that of a predator. Yet, Darcy did not find herself afraid. She didn’t entirely feel like prey either. Anticipation tightened her nipples and they brushed against her shift. The sensation sent little waves of pleasure down to her gut.

Brock opened up the plaid. In a swift movement, he swung it up and over Darcy’s head. He dragged Darcy towards him like she were a fish caught in a net. Darcy fell headfirst into Brock’s broad chest. A searing heat radiated off his body, branding her until all she could think about was his skin against hers. The comforting scent of cloves and wood smoke engulfed her senses. When she looked up, her eyes widened just as Brock bent down to capture her lips with his.

The moment their lips touched, Darcy felt a cacophony of cannons explode inside her chest. It must have been her heart beating wildly. If she weren’t resting her hands on his chest, Darcy would have fallen over from dizziness. Brock’s lips moving against hers in a firm tenderness. It rendered any image of kissing she’d previously held as childish. He dropped the plaid to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her flush against his body. A sigh bubbled up her throat but turned into a deep moan when his tongue slipped into her mouth. Brock’s hand cradled the back of Darcy’s neck, urging her to arch her head back and open up more. She allowed his tongue to move along hers and a shiver of euphoria ran down her spine. The heat between Darcy’s thighs roiled and a voice nudged the back of Darcy’s mind, insisting Brock could somehow ease it. Something stiffened against her belly and she pressed herself up closer to him. A grunt sounded in his chest and despite Darcy’s protests, Brock broke the kiss.

“I should take you back to your grandmother’s,” Brock insisted, voice gruff and dreamy. His breath came out in short, heavy gasps and his arms began to loosen their hold. He tried to step back, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“And if I don’t want to go?” Darcy whispered, following close when he tried to create distance between them. In what must have been a fit of madness, she rubbed her nose against the dip right below his Adam’s apple. His body softened around her as what little resolve he’d found melted. “Perhaps we don’t have to go back tonight.”  

A wolf howled in the distance. The noise was aching, as if it were calling out to lost brothers. It travelled along the wind and the haunting pitch caused a shiver to run down Darcy’s spine. The reply of more wolves joined and their voices rose in a mournful song. They all sounded lost. A pang of regret gripped Darcy’s heart and her lust filled haze began to break as longing for their plight overwhelmed her.

Beneath her hands, she could feel Brock’s muscles tense. When she looked up, she found his jaw clenched and concern shining in his eyes. This time, he took a large step away and she didn’t fight. Although wolves were common enough, there hadn’t been one near this village since her grandfather’s death. Unease at the return of the animals meshed with the disappointment of losing Brock’s warmth.

“I am taking you back,” Brock said. There was no room left for argument. His voice was stern, as if he were used to ordering legions of men and never receiving backtalk. A large cloud flew over the moon, blocking out much of the light and Darcy’s eyes fought to adjust to the darkness. Picking up the forgotten plaid and wrapping it around her shoulders, Darcy only nodded when Brock gestured for her to follow. When they were a dozen paces from the stream, Brock lifted Darcy back in his arms but his previous tenderness was long gone. With the aid of the moon peeking through the clouds, Brock walked Darcy back to the safety of her grandmother’s home. They even picked up her basket along the way but neither one of them spoke. The silence hung heavy between them. On occasion, it was punctuated with a faint howl. Darcy worried she’d ruined what little progress they’d made.

Brock left Darcy on her grandmother’s doorstep. As she watched Brock walk away, a sharp pain clenched her heart. She wanted to cry out for him to stay, even if it was just to hold her until sunrise. She wanted to run after him and beg to sleep in his arms. Instead, she walked inside the cottage and let her lungs fill with misery until she felt as if she were drowning. Ladies did not conduct themselves like wanton creatures but if that meant she could never again feel Brock’s lips against hers, then she was fine ignoring all the lessons and warnings she once heeded. If the fairies wanted her in the wolf’s den, then Darcy would make herself quite comfortable. With that new resolve, she crawled back into bed and fell into a dreamless slumber.


	8. What A Big Heart You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps back, one step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't gotten around to answering your comments. They are always much appreciated and loved though <3   
> Things may get a little more heated in a couple more chapters and I could possibly have to raise the rating. Though it depends on what the muse wants and how you guys feel about that.

Morning brought cool winds and pounding rain. This lasted for two days and prevented Darcy from wandering outside for longer than it took to tend to her horse. Darcy didn’t want to raise her grandmother’s suspicions and trudge through the mud and howling rain just to see if Brock would leave her to the elements. So instead, Darcy helped sort through their drying herb stock and thought on what had happened between her and the mysterious blacksmith. It had been Darcy’s first kiss. Her first _real_ kiss and she would not let it pass on without the gravitas it deserved.

When she was a little girl, she’d gotten a kiss from a stable boy but it had only been a quick peck on the lips that had them both blushing and unable to look one another in the eyes for an entire week. A knight or two had kissed her hand when she was older, aged fourteen then sixteen. She’d been able to look them in the eye afterwards but she’d still blushed. Sir Renauld had stolen a kiss from her last year but Darcy had returned it with a swift knee jab to his intimates before he could try to make it any more than a forced touching of lips. All men (and stable boy) had been chased off by her father. All but Sir Renauld who she’d knocked on the head with a heavy candlestick holder when he insisted she was kidding the both of them with her insistence of virtue. After that, he’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort.   

In the end, all interactions with men that had any romantic intentions towards Darcy, had been utterly disastrous. The poor stable boy had almost been whipped. Both knights _had_ been whipped then sent away and Darcy was quite certain that Bucky was finding out what Sir Renuald had done to her. That meant he’d likely have a cruel punishment devised by Bucky. Although Darcy wasn’t bitter about the last one, she couldn’t help but wonder why her father had worked so hard to shield her from the lusts of men.

Any young girl would assume it was out of fatherly love and duty. Except, Jane and Peggy had more freedoms than Darcy. They’d been able to at least kiss and swoon (Peggy less so because she wasn’t one for swooning). Although they still kept their virtues intact until marriage, they did not shy away from some of the lesser pleasures of the flesh. She remembered them giggling about it with their companions and maids. They even let her in on the conversations, though she had nothing to offer save a few chaste kisses on the back of her hand. That seemed to amuse them more than anything and Darcy stopped caring for the breathless giggles and whispered details.

Father threatened men with severe punishment for lusting after his daughters but they were punished for just looking at Darcy. It was one of the reasons why she’d been able to wander so freely with Bucky and Steve. Most of the knights were too frightened to consider her in romantic terms. Eventually, they’d stopped paying her attention all together and as such, she moved about the estate like a ghost. Her sisters never seemed to care, only stating Darcy was the baby daughter, so father remembered her as an innocent and helpless babe more so. Really, they didn’t notice mush for they had their own passionate hobbies outside of the womanly arts.

After Darcy’s dream, she wondered if there was a different reason for father’s determination to ensure Darcy was as pure as fresh snow for her husband. Then again, what would the fairies know? They only saw her in the summer. Also, father never seemed to worry about Darcy’s virtue when she spent summers with grandmother. A little voice told her that grandmother used to be more watchful of Darcy but had been less serious about it this year. Did her grandmother think that Brock was a honorable man who would watch after Darcy?

Well, he did watch after her, much to his consternation. He just also happened to kiss her. And he was rather good at it. Not that Darcy had any real comparison but he’d made her stomach all knotted up for the two days spend indoors. She couldn’t even really complain about the knots because they were kind of nice. Which was a silly thought. A light shiver ran down her back whenever she remembered the way his hard body felt close to hers or how his tongue had moved over hers. A wetness also coated the crest of her thighs and Darcy understood why her sisters, the companions and the maids giggled as they did. Except, Darcy had no one to giggle with. So, she twisted and examined that night in her head, wondering why Brock would leave her heart cold at her grandmother’s door.

When Darcy remembered what her father would do to men for even looking at her with a twinkle of lust in their eyes, she decided that Brock’s reaction to his own weakness was probably just. One did not dally with a Baron’s daughter if one was not prepared for the consequences. But Darcy did not care for her father’s rules or her father’s plans of her future. No matter how she turned over the events of that night in her head, all sides led to one thing.

Darcy wanted to learn more about the pleasures a woman could know and she wanted to learn from Brock. Of course, Darcy had heard more salacious stories from maids that didn’t know she was sneaking about. Stories that would have made even her once maiden sisters blush for a week. The knights that trained with Steve and Bucky would also, quite often, forget she was about and those stories would make any woman swoon. Except for Darcy, because she paid no real heed to them. It had all been surreal to her. She was not a woman who fainted at the sight of men or felt her blood heat at their thinly veiled lust. Perhaps that was the true success of her father.

But then she’d met a lonely blacksmith on the road to her grandmother’s and it was as if her body was slowly smoldering until it burst into flames. Brock had been the flint and Darcy wanted to engulf him in an inferno. When she thought about Brock, the smell of smoke and cloves, the feel of his skin and the heat of his breath against her neck...she wanted to howl in joy.

Another silly thought but she seemed to be full to the brim with them ever since Brock entered her life. Her heart ached at not knowing what Brock truly felt but Darcy hoped that it was at least an ounce of what she did. As she watched the rain pelt the window and drench the earth, she tried to work out what she would say to him during their next meeting. Darcy stewed upon what he’d done and she stewed about she wanted. She went back and forth, thinking on sermons of virtue she’d received countless times but also the joy the maids shared when talking about their trysts.

Eventually, Darcy decided that if she were going to be forced to spend the rest of her days as Lady Boothby, then she should at least have some memories to keep her warm at night. Many women shared kisses with men before a wedding day and many of those men were not their husbands. Why couldn’t Brock show her what else a man and woman could offer one another?

She’d just have to convince him that it would not bring ill consequences upon his head to dally with a baron’s spinster daughter.

 

* * *

 

When the clouds broke and the sun shone bright, Darcy collected a noon meal in her basket and made her way to Brock’s hut. Before she left, her grandmother dropped a little satchel of herbs into her basket and bid her ask Brock to help them fix a leak in the roof in return for whatever her grandmother had concocted. With instructions of steeping the leaves for seven minutes in hot water, Darcy let out a sigh and decided that trying to figure out the ailment for which Brock needed these drinks for was quite futile. At least if the one she was trying to seek answers from was her grandmother.

Perhaps Brock would be more amiable to discuss it after a few kisses. With that thought warming her skin, Darcy practically skipped down the path. She’d thought upon how she would guide their conversation in the direction she wanted. Surely, Brock would rather ignore the fact they had kissed, if his behavior at the end of that night was any indication. So, she’d just discuss the fairy ring and the further proof that it was indeed a magical spot that only appeared when you weren’t looking for it. Darcy hadn’t been looking for it. At least not intentionally.

Despite the sun peaking over the treetops, the air was still crisp with cool, damp moist. She’d worn her red cloak and dodged large puddles along the path. On occasion, her boots would squelch and she had to pull them out of pockets of mud. Not the most dignifying entrance but she supposed it could not be helped. Finally, with some annoyed mumbles, she reached Brock’s hut and knocked on his door. She waited for the door to open and a small jab of panic clenched her chest. For some reason, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to convince him of what he was sure to assume were her reckless schemes to avoid marriage.

“Darcy?” Brock’s rough voice sounded from the side of the hut, causing Darcy to jump up and gasp. She hadn’t been expecting him to be anywhere other than inside his hut or already banging away at various creations. Of course, it was his home and he had every right to be loitering around all parts of it, she supposed. When she looked over, Darcy saw him stepping from around the back of the hut. It was clear he had not fared well over the last two days. His face was pale and damp and large dark shadows stained the skin under his eyes.  

“You look terrible,” Darcy stated before she could stop herself. Brock raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips.

“As ever,” said Brock, voice hoarse but still amused. “You have a way with words.”

“And you obviously cannot take care of yourself. I do not visit for two days and you seem to have gotten yourself sick,” plucking out the little satchel from her basket, she waved it in front of Brock’s face. “Grandmother had me bring some more of those leaves you like and said you can repay us by fixing a leak in our roof.”

“Very well,” Brock grumbled, stepping closer to her and picking up the little satchel from her hands, careful to not allow their skin to touch. His body seemed to tense as she waited for him to say something else but he looked like he would rather be rid of her. Not letting the awkward air between them deter her too much, Darcy squared her shoulders and poked him in the chest. Brock looked up and set her with an unimpressed glare, lips thinning and the muscles in his neck bulging just slightly. He dropped the satchel back into the basket.

“I, on the other hand, wanted to...discuss the other night,” Darcy said, frowning at herself for not being as couth and alluring as she’d imagined she should be. The Adam’s apple in Brock’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and he looked past her head in an effort to avoid her gaze. She thought back to their encounter, almost a month ago. Then, much like now, he appeared pallid and grasping for control.

“I apologize. You deserve more than another man taking liberties with your trust,” Brock said, voice so low that she had to lean in to hear. She could see his nostrils flare and he took a small step back. His continued to avoid her gaze.  

“I don’t want an apology. I enjoyed it,” said Darcy rather loudly. As Brock cleared his throat and lips thinned, she continued, not willing to back down. Another burst of panic went off in her chest but there was also an underlying feeling of satisfaction. She would not be a woman who allowed her father and some lords she’d only met occasionally as a little girl dictate her life. She had made her choice and she was not afraid. Actually, it was rather freeing. “In fact, I wanted to see how you would feel about...trying it again.”

“Try it again?” Brock asked, voice thin and strangled. He took in a deep breath and she watched his chest expand at the gulp of air.

“Well, yes,” Darcy nodded, slowing down her words to ensure Brock completely understood her intentions. A wave of lust overcame her and she had to look down at the basket hooked at her elbow and wring her hands to stop herself from pouncing into Brock’s arms. “I haven’t really had much dealings with...the ardor of men. I thought if I had to learn it from anyone, I would much rather it be you.”

“It should be your betrothed. On your wedding night,” said Brock bluntly, forcing out each word with great effort as he took another, large step back. His hands lifted slightly in surrender, as if he were trying to back away from a fearsome beast. Crossing her arms and setting Brock with a pout, she took a step forwards.

“I think it should be obvious by now, what my feelings on that matter are. Which is why I choose you. _I_ choose you. Not my father or the King or anyone else. Just me. I thought you would at least understand that,” Darcy said, voice close to begging.

“ _Darcy_ ,” Brock said her name in a low, panting whine, sending a shiver down her back that coiled in her gut. His amber eyes focused on her and Darcy was pinned to the spot. Muscles bulged and tensed as he let out a long, ragged breath. Darcy dropped the basket and bit her lower lip as a thick air of craving rolled off him. Her insides felt as if they were twisting. Waiting with bated breath, Darcy could feel Brock’s control wavering and she wanted to bask in that triumph. In that, there was power. It settled in her gut as a warm sensation, as if she’d just gobbled down a warm stew. She knew Brock wanted to take her offer but something was holding him back. If anything, he should have the decency to at least tell her what his reservations were. Taking a confident step his way, Darcy was determined to close the distance between them. The further Brock got from her, the more he seemed to be shutting her out. Something clasped on her heart and tugged, as if attempting to tear off a little piece.

“Would you rather have me only in my night shift again?” teased Darcy. He certainly hadn’t been as resistant then, so perhaps she should drag him for a private swim. From the way his eyes glazed over, she knew he was remembering the image and he swallowed heavily. His face softened and he took one tentative step towards her. Darcy’s heart began to beat faster and she felt her skin prickle under his gaze as he licked his lips.

“Come now Brock, will you not introduce me to your new friend?” A head popped out from the side of Brock’s hut where he’d been hiding before. Darcy let out a squeal of surprise at the sudden appearance of the stranger. The man had black hair and dark eyes but a wide, white toothed grin. His eyes widened when he took in Darcy’s appearance and but he kept his smile in place even if the corners slipped.

Like that, the spell was broken. Brock closed his eyes tightly and shook his head as the stranger stepped out from the cover of the hut. He smacked Brock sharply on the back, as if helping to jolt him out of his stupor. As Darcy took in the full appearance of the stranger, she held back a gasp.

“Who are you?” Darcy asked. There was obviously some former familiarity with Brock by the way they stood comfortably next to one another. But what drew her interest was what the man wore. Wrapped around his body was the same pattern of plaid Brock had given her. It was belted at his waist and hung just below his knees. The length was then wrapped over his shoulder and pinned in place with a silver brooch shaped as the head of a snarling wolf. Under the plaid was a thin linen shirt. Tall but worn leather boots were covering most of his legs and were mud splattered. Darcy’s first instinct was that this was a clansman that Brock had once called brother but she thought they had all died. The man stood tall like a soldier poised for instructions under Darcy’s perusal and his smile dropped completely. His nostrils flared as if he were taking in a deep breath.

Darcy’s gaze continued to drift to his wolf’s head brooch. It looked very similar in style to the clasp of her cloak. The man followed her gaze and after taking a long, steely eyed look at her red cloak, relaxed his stance and turned to Brock to offer a lecherous smile. Bringing his attention back to Darcy, the stranger bowed dramatically in front of her and even bent on one knee with head bowed. It was the most formal greeting she’d ever received. For a moment, she felt like a queen and he a loyal soldier. She even offered her hand towards him as if to allow him to pledge loyalty. Not finding it odd or amusing, he gently held her fingers in his and placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. A low, short growl from Brock caught Darcy’s attention and she sent him a questioning look as he tried to cover up the noise by loudly clearing this throat.

“My name is Jack, m’lady,” said the kneeling man, sending Brock a smug look before letting go of Darcy’s hand and standing tall. There were hints of an accent she couldn’t place. “I have known Brock a very long time and have been searching for him. I had feared for his being but now I see it was all for naught.”

“And where did you begin your search?” asked Darcy, hoping to get some more information about Brock’s past. Jack seemed more than willing to oblige.

“Up north. We once lived in the same village, near an empty castle. War separated us, some years before but I had assumed Brock made his way back. When I realised he hadn’t, me and some men went on our search,” said Jack and the more he revealed, the more Brock’s body tensed and he avoided Darcy’s curious glances. His jaw clenched and his hands formed fists, veins bulging along on his muscled arms that were visible due to his rolled up sleeves. Still, he did not make any effort to silence Jack.

The information was certainly new and intriguing. The only event she could call a war were the battles of the houses Lancaster and York as they fought for the crown. As far as she knew, the Yorks had established their heir as King about six years ago. Although Darcy should be more concerned about the warring whims of men, she hadn’t much reason to worry. What did she care if a red or white rose sat on the throne? Men were men and would be troublesome either way. Now though, she began to appreciate the many lessons she’d been forced through as a child when her father had hopes of her catching a court lord. She wondered which side Brock fought for and how it shaped him. There were other things about Jack’s story that intrigued her though. Such as this empty castle and how Jack had known Brock was alive as opposed to dead. She focused on the more pressing details.   

“Brock said that everyone in the clan he lived in was dead,” Darcy said, knowing she should be more careful with what Brock had offered up to her about his past but she was still desperate to know more. A shot of annoyance burst in the back of her head and she looked up to catch Brock’s eyes and found the same feeling shining there. Jack noticed their shared look and was greatly amused as well as intrigued.

“It is what he assumed,” Jack said, walking towards Brock and placing a hand on his shoulder in a sign of comradery. Brock turned his head away at the gesture. “Some of us still live and we have been rebuilding. You could say we are flourishing despite the odds. I was just telling him there is no sense in dwelling in guilt for things he had no control over. I had hoped he would join my men and return. Here I was, worried Brock here was living in abject misery, growing as mad as a lone wolf.” At that, Jack squeezed Brock’s shoulder. Then he sent Darcy a toothy grin. “I’m glad to be proven wrong, though I must also admit I’m quite jealous. My men’s company is not nearly as sweet.”

At Jack’s wink, Darcy deflated. An emptiness hollowed her out at the thought of Brock leaving. It would be the best for him to return to a home he thought gone but Darcy did not want to be left alone. She wanted to be selfish and tell him he was not allowed to leave but bit her tongue.

“I have made no promises to join him,” Brock assured quietly and a soothing balm crept over the hollowness inside her.  

“Of course, you are more than welcome to join us. From what I gathered, you have a betrothed you don’t seem keen on? My men and Brock can surely protect you from his grasp,” Jack promised and although a longing hope bloomed in her chest, she did not allow herself to believe that his words were completely true.

“I do not think you or your men would risk your lives over a woman you have never met before,” Darcy crossed her arms and jutted out a hip, challenging the declaration. The gesture seemed to delight Jack.

“Would you believe me if I said you may be the woman I have been searching for my entire life?” teased Jack and while Darcy wanted to disregard him as a complete flirt, she couldn’t help but feel a powerful veracity underlying his words. Shaking off her unease, Darcy picked up her basket and shrugged.

“I would have to tell you there are many men in my life that would oppose that statement. Namely my father and all those involved in setting up my betrothal. Perhaps Brock too, depending on his mood,” Darcy said haughtily and Jack let out a sharp, bark of a laugh. “Where are you and your men staying?”

“We have made camp in the forest. The shelter that _Flidais_ herself provides is our preference. We find that the further south we travel, the more wary others become of us,” Jack said and Darcy’s brow rose at whoever Flidais was. She couldn’t help but notice that his accent when saying that word sounded almost like the fairies when they spoke but she was sure that was a silly comparison. It was only one word. “As such, my men and I tend to avoid busy towns.”

“Perhaps if you put on some breeches, you wouldn’t be so harshly judged,” offered Darcy and Jack turned to Brock with a grin.

“Is she always like this?”

“Yes,” Brock said, lifting one shoulder up in a shrug. Pleased at the answer, Jack nodded and then bowed his head towards Darcy.

“Well, I shall not impose on Brock’s hospitality any longer. I can see he has other matters that need tending,” announced Jack, voice dripping with salacious intention. With a final pointed look at Brock, he walked back around the hut. Darcy and Brock stood in silence as they listened to his footfalls through the brambles and bushes until only the sound of birds filled the air.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t be wandering the forests with those men now hiding in it,” Darcy broke the quiet and was pleased when Brock offered a long-suffering sigh. That was more in line with the behavior she expected from him.  

“You _shouldn’t_ be wandering the forests but those men will not harm you. Tease you perhaps. Most likely talk until your ears bleed,” Brock tiredly stated. “That is not a suggestion to go looking for them.”

“I won’t go looking for them if I have a suitable distraction,” Darcy said, earning a very unimpressed frown from Brock. His brow furrowed and he let out an irritated grunt.

“We are no longer discussing that,” Brock swore.  

“All because you wish it, I will not end this conversation before it even has begun,” Darcy said, her own voice rising.  

“I say that it has ended,” Brock growled quietly as he made his way to the door of his hut. “I am not going to be your last effort to sully yourself to thwart your betrothed.”

“That isn’t the reason why,” insisted Darcy, heart sinking for she had hoped he would have understood her thinking by now, instead of refusing to hear any further. The clench on her heart was back and tugging hard. “I just...I would rather it all with be you. Why can’t I make that choice for myself? It has been taken away from me and I refuse to let my father sell away my virtue with no say from me. How many times have you heard me say such?”

The moment he got to his door, Brock stopped, hand hovering over the latch. Darcy could see how his shoulders tensed then fell, as if he were regretting his rash decision. For a second, it felt as it Darcy’s heart was torn from all that tugging but from that tear shone a beam of what she thought could be love. Instead of declaring his refusal was madness, his hand fell onto the latch and Darcy’s heart continued to tear.  

“Just stay inside tonight. I cannot say what I will do if I catch you wandering the forest at night again. I might have to drape you over my knee and spank you,” mumbled Brock but before Darcy could come up with a reply, he walked into his hut and slammed the door shut. She could hear some shuffling inside that sounded like a bar being put against the door. Realizing that the conversation was clearly over for now, Darcy sighed and began to walk back to her grandmother’s. In a last thought, she left her basket in front of his door in case he wished for a noon meal or the packet of leaves. After all, he did look quite ill.


	9. The Better To Make You Shiver With

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably take more time to edit this but I am impatient and really want to share a new chapter with you lovely, lovely readers <3
> 
> Also, the fic will be rising to explicit quite soon. Just FYI. :D

Leaving her cloak at her grandmother’s, Darcy spend the rest of the day chasing butterflies and watching her horse, Lady, graze by the stream. She hid in the shade and tried to ignore the sadness dwelling in her chest. Although Brock was an easy walk away, she still missed him. How could she convince him of her heart? He obviously wished to be blind to all that was in front of him, no matter how much she explained her true feelings. While losing her virtue to someone other than her betrothed may help her cause, she could easily travel down to another village and find a willing partner. She chose Brock and would not waver or find a substitute. No other man had made Darcy feel what Brock had with just the gentlest of touch or faintest of smiles. She thought he felt the same but perhaps she was wrong.

Maybe Darcy should give Brock a visit this night. She could tell he was on the precipice of losing out to his lust, or at least she assumed he was. If the only thing stopping him was a sense of duty to her virtue, then she would just have to convince him that it was a useless sense of morality. She began to form half of a plan, mindlessly making a flower crown for Lady as said horse alternated between nibbling on grass and nuzzling Darcy. When an itch tickled Darcy’s shoulders, she looked behind her and saw Jack strolling out of the forest and into the field. His boots swished through the tall grass and flowers. The noise made the hair on Darcy’s arm stand on end. She remembered Brock telling her to not be afraid of the mysterious clansmen. Although she could argue she was not afraid at the moment, she would have to admit she was mildly curious. The closer he walked, the more Darcy could make out of his grin and calm, easy demeanor.

“Hello, my Queen,” Jack said humbly, standing still when he was a few large strides away. He offered Darcy a low bow and she rolled her eyes.

“A baron’s daughter is hardly a queen. You can stop the attempt at charm,” Darcy commanded and Jack shrugged.    

“It depends on the baron’s daughter, I suppose, and who she is to the beholder,” admitted Jack and Darcy let out a small laugh.

“And pray tell, why does this beholder see a queen? Although I appreciate the sentiment, I can say I will not allow you to seduce me.”

“I fully intent to leave the seducing up to Brock,” Jack said with a smirk and mischief sparkling in his eyes. He sounded as if he were singing out a tease. Darcy raised her eyebrow and watched Jack for a long moment. His smirk did not falter but he did avert his gaze. 

“Well, you’ll be waiting a long time, I can assure you. I can hardly make heads or tails of what he wishes. One day he warms to me like a fawn to its mother and the next he can’t wait to get rid of me. I know not what to think other than I should leave him to his grumpy solitude,” Darcy said.

“Brock is honorable at heart. And honorable men will dance around what they wish if they fear it will sully a beautiful woman’s reputation,” said Jack. It was as Darcy feared, Brock was terribly moral. At least when it came to her. How horrid. 

“And if the woman wants her reputation to be sullied?”

“Then she may have to hide in his bed and not give him much of a choice,” Jack said with a suggestive grin. Although the thought was quite like the one Darcy had just moments ago, she could not help but wonder if it would truly help her cause. Surely, Brock would not appreciate being cornered. For certain, Darcy did not appreciate being cornered with her impending wedding.  

“I fear Brock would still kick me out of his hut if I attempt that. He seems to have no difficulty sending me home at the slightest provocation,” admitted Darcy, looking back down at the flowers in her hands. The crowns appeared childish all of a sudden. A pang of disappointment clenched her chest.

“Brock will come ‘round, I am certain of it,” Jack said gently. He crouched down to sit beside Darcy. “You feel him in your heart, yes? Like a second beat in time with your own?”

Darcy wrinkled her nose at the metaphor. Sometimes, she thought that she knew exactly what Brock felt but she hadn’t felt his heartbeat inside her chest. The idea was...intriguing though. Akin to poetry, even. Biting her bottom lip, she tried to focus on feeling her heartbeat. She didn’t feel any different but wondered what it would be like to have Brock’s heartbeat pounding next to hers. She could easily imagine feeling it beat underneath her hands as she ran her fingers down his neck and chest before her lips followed suit. The thought caused her cheeks to flush and she looked away from Jack’s intent gaze.

“Love like that only ends in utter despair or absolute joy. I have faith it will play out like a fairy tale,” said Jack and Darcy let a bitter snort of derision.

“That is a rather bleak view on the matter of love. Also, I would not go as far to call it that,” Darcy said, becoming distracted when Lady nuzzled her for another pat on the head. She scratched the horse between the ears. “I simply find him pleasing to pass the time with.”

“Your horse, here, is pleasing to pass the time with. I think your wish of passing the time with Brock would consist of acts a tad more improper,” Jack teased and Darcy couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“I suppose that is true,” shrugged Darcy. After a few beats, she pursed her lips and watched Jack as he let out his hand for Lady to sniff. Although she seemed a little wary, she allowed him to pat her on the head. “You seem to know much about Brock. What sort of women did he have interest in before I met him?”

“My better judgement tells me to let him answer that for you,” Jack said with a smirk, eyes still focused on Lady. An image of the prostitute from the village flashed through Darcy’s mind and she felt a tickling in her throat. Swallowing past it, she let out a sigh. Although she was fishing for the answer, she’d hate to hear that was the sort of woman Brock preferred over her.

“I think we’ve established that Brock hardly tells me anything,” Darcy said, plucking a few more flowers to weave into the crown.   

“Have we now?” Jack asked lightly. There was a teasing glint in his eye that Darcy did not appreciate given her circumstances and lack of success.  

“You’re hardly any help at all,” said Darcy with a pout. “I did not think it would be this difficult to seduce a man. I always overheard conversations of women discussing how troublesome it was to keep an unwanted man deterred but it appears I have the problems that most women yearn for.”

“Be careful. When a wolf has the taste of soft flesh, then nothing else will do,” Jack warned with a wink but there didn’t seem to be any ill omen in his tone. In fact, he broke out into a silly, proud grin and Darcy simply rolled her eyes at his odd metaphors.

“Are you suggesting Brock is holding himself back in fear that once wayward kiss from me will cause him to lose all control of himself?” asked Darcy skeptically, offering Jack a sidelong glance.

“I never suggested Brock was the wolf,” Jack said, voice lowering slightly and strange intent hidden beneath the words. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to say but a shudder ran through her body, coiling in her gut as a strange anticipation she could not full name. Without warning, Jack stood up and stepped back to offer another bow. “Perhaps you should visit Brock this night. He may appreciate the company.”

“He specifically told me that that he did not want me to wander out tonight. I doubt he’d react well to me disobeying a direct order,” Darcy countered as Jack turned to walk away.

Without turning around, Jack shouted out his reply with a cackle. “He specifically said he would not know what he would do if he saw you. Perhaps you’ll be pleasantly surprised. ‘Tis a full moon tonight. A night for romance and trysts, to be certain.”

As Darcy watched Jack saunter off into the forest, she wrinkled her nose. He was a strange man. She wasn’t sure what to make of him yet, though he seemed rather harmless. There was an air about him that put Darcy at ease, as if she could trust he would rather put himself in harm’s way before it befell her. He didn’t strike her as a particularly honorable man but he seemed to stand taller around her, treating her with a respect she felt she had earned more so than one that was forced because of who her father was. What she had done so far to earn this respect, she wasn’t sure.  

Placing the flower crown over Lady’s ears, Darcy was pleased when it did not immediately fall off. Mulling over her next actions, she brought her mind back to Brock and wondered over her next actions to ensnare the handsome blacksmith. Jack’s word might have a kernel of truth in them. Timid misses only accepted what was thrown at them. If there was one thing that Darcy was not, it was timid.

 

* * *

 

 

Evening fell without incident but Darcy could not sit still. Although grandmother put her to work mending, Darcy still found herself looking out the window and letting out mournful sighs. As darkness fell, the air grew cooler and grandmother insisted Darcy keep her cloak on. For some reason, Darcy was annoyed by this command. She wasn’t sure why, as it was one she’d easily follow without concern before. It was not a hot night but the cloak stifled her nonetheless. Yet, Darcy was a dutiful granddaughter. Given her grandmother had no inkling that Darcy would be taking Jack’s advice and try to stir some romance in Brock, it was the least she could do. By this moment, all Darcy had left to lose was her pride and she realized that it if desperate times called for desperate actions, she would be with one less betrothed if she succeeded. So, surely, she could risk pride.

Nerves began to eat away at Darcy, for her grandmother did not seek sleep as early as was her habit. There were times that Darcy thought perhaps her grandmother did know the less than pure thoughts than ran through her head. Except, grandmother just hummed and did her mending in the candlelight without complaint or secretive glances. Eventually, Darcy feigned exhaustion and ran to her room, listening for the sounds of her grandmother searching for respite.

Despite Darcy’s best attempts to stay alert, she fell eventually asleep. She woke hours later. Thankfully, Darcy had not missed her opportunity. It was still dark and the full moon shone high above the trees. Knowing that now was her best chance, she crept out of her room and slowly made her way to freedom. As she passed the sturdy table they used for dining, she tossed her crimson cloak onto the surface. A large weight was thrown from her shoulders at the motion and she wondered why she had not attempted it sooner.

The front door opened with the tiniest of creaks. Hardly noticed in the day but it rung loudly in the dead of night, as if calling out for anyone to stop Darcy before she could escape. She waited a long moment, the sound of her breathing mingling with cricket hums and an owl’s soft hoot. Once Darcy was certain her grandmother would not stir, she stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Her breath left her chest in a long whoosh as she looked out at the forest and pathway. Moonlight illuminated the herbs and flowers growing in lush, chaotic beds that littered the front of her grandmother’s home. The trees lining the forest cast long shadows on the ground. Nocturnal creatures tentatively made their presences known but Darcy felt no fear or apprehension walking further towards a pool of moonlight.

Yet, her skin began to itch and even with Darcy’s best efforts, she could not alleviate the pain it caused. Undoing the laces of her kirtle in an attempt to loosen the rough fabric against her skin did not help either. Eventually, Darcy just pulled the damn thing off and tossed it by her feet. Moonlight touched her skin and she grew warm. A gentle breeze blew, tugging at her hair but pulling a satisfied sigh from her lips. Now only in a linen shift, she felt a little less bound but the itching sensation was only dulled.  

Exhaustion sunk into Darcy’s body, clinging to her bones. She stopped to sit near a patch of bluebells to catch her breath. The smell of the flowers was sharper than usual, tickling and stinging her nose until she sneezed. A displeased whine sounded off at the back of Darcy’s head and she looked around to try and find the source. When she saw nothing, Darcy yawned. Somehow, she was dangerously fatigued but also felt like a vicious creature impatiently waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey. Approaching Brock with the intent to seduce if she were constantly yawning may not be the best of tactics. So, she lay down on her side and cushioned her head with her arm.

Darcy had the intention of closing her eyes just until the lethargy pass. Loud howls echoed through the trees. Three different wolves sang out and she thought that they sounded excited. The last thought Darcy had before the world went dark was that she would so love to join them in celebrating whatever caused their joy.


	10. The Better To Gobble You Whole With

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You readers are all so amazing. I'm too tired to be witty right now. <3
> 
> PLEASE NOTE the change of rating. It starts at this chapter ;) Enjoy your smut.

 

Soft murmurs lulled Darcy out of the darkness. Echoes of sleep clung onto her senses and she wasn’t sure if she should fight them. The scent of earth and something sharper tickled her nose. Songbirds chirped, happy for the beginning of another day. Memories flickered through her mind but they were only flashes of the moon in the night sky and animals scattering across the dark forest floor. As she kept her eyes shut, Darcy tried to focus on the rumbling voices around her.

“I am uncertain if this proves anything,” said the first voice, deep and gruff, holding onto years of ill luck and spite.

“How much proof do you need? We have lived our lives in the shadows and have been burnt when we sought the light but do not let that blind you from what is in front of us,” said another man, annoyed and tired. Darcy thought she recognized the voice but she could not place it.

“We all fear the chance of false hope,” spat the first man, voice rising from an angry whisper. “Going back home with our tails between our legs because we put all our eggs in one basket? What happens when all that hatches are chicks and not the cygnets we wished? Risking our necks for naught is what you ask of us.”

“Brock would not be sniffing around her if he felt it was all for naught,” said the second man and Darcy’s brow wrinkled. She did not open her eyes but she kept her breathing steady. As much as she opposed the idea of anyone sniffing around her, she could not decide if she was angry that Brock might be using her for his own end or if she was pleased that he was indeed interested in her.

“He is a desperate man and a desperate man will do anything, even go against his best judgement,” the first man argued. Now, that offended Darcy. Yet she could not find it in herself to be angry at the man. She could feel the pain and sadness that hid under his anger. Wariness was his defense in keeping his wound from growing.

“You should have seen him with her. Clawing at the seams of his skin just at the sight of her. In fact, I do not know what Brock is so timid about. They’re practically bonded,” the second man insisted and Darcy almost opened her eyes. She could not imagine Brock being timid about anything. This ‘bonded’ business though? They were talking in metaphors they only understood.  

“Brock timid? That is an ill sign indeed. How can that not make you wary of the inevitable outcome?”

“You saw with your own eyes. You fear the truth because you do not want your losses to be justified,” the second man said, conviction in his voice. A growl shook the air in response and she stilled, concerned a wolf had approached. The men were not moved by the sound.

“Since we are discussing our fears, I particularly fear what will happen when Brock finds her here in this state,” said a third man. His voice held more joy and although some concern tinged his words, laughter seemed to be the undercurrent of his tone. “He will be angry for certain, if Jack’s suggestion holds any truth and Brock has not laid claim.”

“We kept her safe, that is all that matters,” the first man mumbled.

“Not sure why Brock is taking his time on this matter. If he truly has entertained the notion of stealing her away from her betrothed, he shouldn’t be running around like a maiden from a field mouse,” the third man chuckled to himself. His joke pulled laughter from the other two men, one bitter and another mildly amused. _That_ was certainly information she could use to her benefit. She also just wished Brock would stop taking his time and decide to steal her away. She certainly wouldn’t complain.

At this time, Darcy took more note of her surroundings. A wool blanket was tucked around her tightly, and she realized she could not move her arms. A thin pallet lay below her, covering uneven earth and clumps of fauna. In fact, her bare arms were touching her bare sides…which meant she wasn’t even wearing a shift.

Darcy struggled against the wool, opening her eyes but squinting at the streams of sunlight peeking through the trees. She lay stranded in the forest but she knew not how she got here and why she was wrapped in nothing but a blanket. A strange tang coated Darcy’s tongue and she thought it might be blood. Had she fallen last night, dream walked again and bit the inside of her mouth? Looking down at the blanket, she recognized the plaid that Jack and Brock held dear. She turned her head towards the voices and saw Jack with two men she did not know. They all wore outfits similar to Jack’s plaid wrap, with varying belts and weapons. Silver wolf’s head brooches all sparkled in the early morning light against the plaid across their chests. The shorter of the three men noticed Darcy’s struggling and stilled at her wide eyes. The other two men followed his gaze.

“What have you done to me?” Darcy asked hoarsely, finally able to free one of her arms from her cocooned prison. Her throat was raw, as if she’d been shouting for an entire week. With some difficulty, she sat up and readjusted the plaid tightly around her body. Her legs curled under her and she crossed her arms over her chest, fixing the men with a glare.

“What ha-” the tallest of the three men began to speak and Darcy recognized his voice as the angriest of the men. He had a long unkempt beard and despite the weary air about him, projected strength.

“We found you in laying in the forest,” Jack interrupted the man swiftly, taking a step towards her. His hand was up, as if he were attempting to calm a rabid dog. “As naked as the day you were born. I wrapped you up and carried you to our camp. Do you have the habit of dream walking, perchance?”

“I... _what_?” The story seemed wild but his question stopped Darcy from tossing out its veracity all together. She _had_ dream walked before. Did she dream of the fairies again and this time, thought she was dancing in the ring? The men noticed her doubt. The tallest man glared at Jack.

“Do you remember anything of your dream, m’lady?” asked the shorter man. His beard was trim and he was had a stocky build. Darcy did her best to recall the night but a sharp pain shot through her head. Grabbing her temples, she took a shaky gasp of breath. Memories fluttered through her head but they could not have belonged to her. The howls of wolves vibrated through her skull. Happy baying and barking as the wolves ran in the moonlight. She was leading them, chasing her tail before running after a rabbit. Bones crushed under her jaws and warm blood running down her mouth. Looking down, Darcy searched for the signs of carnage and found nothing but clean pale skin. The tallest man noticed her confusion and he walked over to a bag on the ground. Out of it, he pulled a small leather waterskin, which he handed to her.

For a long moment, Darcy stared up at him with a raised brow. From his words, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted him to not poison her but the other the men did not intervene. Although it was silly to trust men she hardly knew, Darcy still reached out and took the offered waterskin. An angry wolf had been scored into the leather. She ran her thumb over the growling creature before pulling the cork. Taking a hearty gulp, Darcy almost coughed up the fiery liquid. She’d assumed it was some sort of ale or wine but she’d never drank anything like it. Heat trailed down her throat where the liquid touched and into her stomach. She forgot the pain of her throat for a moment.

“Aqua Vitae will do you some good,” the tall, gruff man said, crossing his arms sternly but offering Darcy a wink. His chest puffed out slightly in pride. “I made that whiskey myself. Finest you will ever taste.” Taking another tentative sip and enjoying the way it warmed her up, Darcy concentrated on the night before. She tried to recall why she had ended up naked in the forest, if these men were telling the truth.

“I was...smelling bluebells outside my grandmother’s home and I sat down because I was tired,” Darcy admitted. It was the last memory she had that she could trust. Everything after that was just snapping jaws and light paws on the forest floor. People did _not_ turn into wolves. No matter what her grandmother’s stories suggested. There was a reasonable explanation for this. Perhaps the wolf howls she’d heard before falling asleep led her dreams into wild fantasy? Before Darcy found the courage to admit she remembered wolves, a frantic voice called out her name.

“ _Darcy_?” The voice cried, scaring off the twittering birds. Three horses grazing nearby lifted their heads. But Darcy recognized the deep baritone. Relief washed over her and she allowed her shoulders to slump. As ease sunk into her gut, the ache of her muscles grew more evident.

“Brock,” Darcy replied, voice cracking. The running of feet through the underbrush were the first thing Darcy heard but soon enough, Brock emerged through the thick copse of trees. He did not look much better than he had the day before, skin still pale and beaded with sweat. Deep shadows hung under his eyes and his hair was a rumpled mess. He only wore a shirt and braies, as if he hurried out of his hut without any regard for himself. Running through the forest probably would not help his health but Darcy could not stop the solace filling her at the sight of him. The moment his eyes fell on her, he let out a breath of relief and the tension in his entire body eased.

Darcy stood up, struggling with the wool plaid as it caught between her legs. Readjusting the plaid around her, she ran towards Brock. She didn’t stop until her face was buried in his chest and her arms wrapped around his body in a tight hug. The scent of cloves and wood smoke engulfed Darcy. The steady heartbeat thrumming through him let her know that whatever mess she’d gotten herself into, would sort itself out just fine. Brock buried his nose in the hair at her crown and inhaled deeply. A warmth similar to the trail left by the whiskey heated her entire body. It was also at this moment that Darcy realized that she still had the waterskin clutched in her hand. Pulling her head back, Darcy looked up at Brock and her heart lodged in her throat at the adoration etched into his face.

“Your grandmother is frantic. She had to assist in a birth this morning and almost knocked down my door in search of you,” Brock said quietly, voice rumbling pleasantly. Although Darcy felt guilt at causing her grandmother such worry, she couldn’t stop herself from rising on the balls of her feet and rubbing the tip of her nose against Brock’s. A tiny smile tugged at his lips.

“I didn’t mean to upset her. I planned on meeting you last night but...but I fell asleep and woke up here,” admitted Darcy. “I think I may have been dream walking again.”

“I told you not to wander at night,” Brock chastised but there was hardly any anger in his tone. In fact, he appeared all too relieved at finding her safe to really consider her stupid actions. She was sure the affection would wear off soon enough but she’d enjoy it while she could.

“You know why I wanted to see you,” Darcy insisted and Brock just grunted. When he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, Darcy’s entire body hummed in excitement. Something she could only describe as love blossomed in her chest, leaving fluttering butterflies in its wake as it spread through her limbs. As she preened, one of their forgotten audience cleared his throat. Darcy and Brock turned their gazes towards the three men. They stood at attention, as if they were knights waiting orders.

“Rulf, Gavin,” Brock addressed the men and from their nods, Darcy determined the taller one was Rulf and the shorter was Gavin. “I am glad to see you two alive and well.”

“Given that we were on the search for you, I must say we share the sentiment,” Gavin said, a grin breaking out on his face. A repose settled over the men now, though they all stood tall and proud under Brock’s and Darcy’s gazes. The three men also shared almost delighted glances amongst each other as they watched Darcy burrow into Brock’s chest.

She couldn’t help herself, she just wanted to be closer to him.

“You kept Darcy safe, I trust,” Brock asked, warning clear in his tone. He pulled Darcy closer at the statement. A large warm hand fell to rest at the base of her spine and the other gently took the water skin from her.

“I’m offended you would suggest otherwise,” Jack said, smirk on his lips as he watched Brock’s grip. His eyes caught Darcy’s and he bowed slightly. “M’lady, you are free to join our men anytime you tire of Brock’s company. You will always be safe in our presence.”

“Perhaps I will consider keeping my kirtle in place if I choose to seek you men out,” Darcy said, causing the men to chuckle. Taking a large drink from the water skin, Brock didn’t even wince as he swallowed.

“Still the best whiskey,” Brock said as Rulf took back the water skin, a pleased smile on his face. Turning his attention back to Darcy, Brock continued with a more solemn tone. “Your grandmother tasked me to find you and bring you back home. She insisted you not leave your bed until she returns, though she is uncertain when that will be.”

With a sigh, Darcy nodded and looked down. Her feet were bare again but given the circumstances, it was no surprise. While most women would be hysterical if they were to find themselves naked in the middle of the forest with three strangers for company, Darcy found herself strangely serene. As foolish as she probably was for trusting their word that they meant no ill will towards her, in Darcy’s heart she knew that her safety was not in peril. Her reputation was another matter completely but she didn’t care much for it anymore.

Brock lifted her, carrying Darcy much like he had the night he found her dream dancing in the fairy ring. The journey back to her grandmother’s home was quiet. Darcy wrapped one arm around his neck and placed her other hand on his chest, next to his heart. She found solace in his warmth and scent. His steady breathing eased any remaining tension she had over her dream and how it led her astray. This time, there were no scratches on her legs but she did note some of her muscles ached from exertion, as if she’d ran for hours.

“I was going to visit you last night,” Darcy admitted. “I know you didn’t wish me to but I couldn’t help myself. I fell asleep when I walked outside and had strange dreams. Doubtless, I must have dreamt something wonderfully odd to end up as I did. I played with wolves in my dreams. Isn’t that ever so strange?”

All she got in response was a toneless grunt. Although Brock didn’t speak on her dream, he did tighten his grip on her just a little. He was being oddly docile this morning and she wondered if it was due to his illness that appeared to weaken his resolve against her wiles. Or perhaps he was that relieved to find her in good health despite her dream walking.

Once they returned to her grandmother’s home, Brock carried Darcy inside and set her next to the table. There, she could see the neatly folded kirtle, shift and crimson cloak she wore the previous day. Vaguely, Darcy had a memory of her taking them off but she couldn’t remember why.

“Your clothes were strewn about the herbs and flowers. Your grandmother talked in tongues by the time she reached my hut,” Brock said, following her gaze. It was meant to tease her but it only caused Darcy’s heart to sink. Her intentions had been to not worry her grandmother but that obviously hadn’t happened. For all the freedoms her grandmother offered Darcy here in the small village, the least she could do was not upset the woman she loved so dearly. With her clothes strewn about in such a manner, there could only be one grim assumption of what happened to her.

“Was it tongues or French?” Darcy asked, looking back at Brock to see him shrug. She appreciated his attempt at humor nonetheless. “Were you as concerned?”

“With your preference for shucking off your garments and dancing in fairy rings, I assumed it was just a normal night for you,” Brock said, light tone forced but his face held solemn. “But I am glad no harm has come to you.”  

“Those men seemed to be certain that you would be angry with them if they allowed any harm to come to me,” Darcy said, deciding to keep most of the conversation she overheard to herself so she could think on it further. Brock stood a little taller at her comment.

“Then they still know me well,” said Brock. Moving to the hearth, he poked at the embers and added a small log. After a fire roared to life, he placed a kettle onto the flame.

“Would they have harmed me if I hadn’t known you?” Darcy asked. Although her instincts told her that they were nothing to fear, all the lessons her father tried to instill in her whispered caution.

“No,” Brock said. He didn’t look up but he did grab a mug and place it on the table. She peered into it to find dried herbs. It must have been set out by her grandmother in anticipation of Darcy’s return. When Brock continued to work on the flames in silence, she sighed.

“What concoction are you making me?” asked Darcy.

“A mix your grandmother made before she left. Said it will ease your mind and send you to sleep. I’m to guard your door until she returns. She no longer trusts you to stay put,” Brock said and Darcy couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Not wanting to discuss her grandmother’s ill judgment in having Brock be the one to keep Darcy out of trouble, she scooped up the pile of her clothes and made her way to her room. When inside, she let the plaid fall and poured some water into a small basin. As Darcy used a rag to clean herself, she searched for any signs of damage. She didn’t feel particularly filthy, which she thought strange for a night running naked in the forest. The bottoms of her feet were dirty and she noticed some grime and dirt in her fingernails. Stains of red clung to her fingertips and all she could wonder was what the world she had gotten up to last night. Otherwise, nothing else was amiss.

After cleaning her skin and nails, Darcy brushed and braided her hair. She slipped on her shift. For a moment, she considered donning her kirtle but decided that if the drink was to make her sleep, there was no point. By the time she returned to Brock, hot water had been added to the herbs and it cooled enough for Darcy to drink. Brock stood over her, watching as she drank the vile concoction. It tasted both sour and bitter with no real forgiving flavor in it at all.  

“The sleep will take over in about an hour. Perhaps shorter since you are smaller,” Brock said, grabbing the mug from Darcy when she finished. Although a gentle warmth settled in her stomach and chest, she didn’t notice any other immediate changes.

“Did my grandmother tell you that?”

“No, I know from my own experience. This is what your grandmother sends to me,” Brock admitted. Darcy’s brow rose. Why would her grandmother give her the same drink as Brock? And how did her grandmother know this would be the thing Darcy needed upon her return? It if made her sleep, it may simply be something to keep Darcy in her room until grandmother returned and could make a better assessment. Once Brock placed the nearly empty mug on the table, he ushered Darcy back to her room.

With a long-suffering sigh, Darcy let him shepherd her into her bed. In protest, she refused to lay down. Instead, she sat on the edge and looked up at Brock. He’d crossed his arms and fixed her with a glare suggesting he expected her to fall to sleep immediately because he’d commanded it. Although his skin held a pallor, he no longer appeared as flushed. It pleased Darcy that his health was slowly returning. Perhaps whatever ailed Brock subsided when he had someone to boss about. The thought amused her and Brock frowned at her giggle.

“What are you up to now?” asked Brock, voice stern but hued with the slightest uncertainty.

“Are you to be the sentry outside my door the entire time I sleep?” Darcy countered.

“Yes. I’m to make sure you do not get yourself into any more danger,” Brock said.

“Would it not be more comfortable if you waited in here with me?” asked Darcy, voice coy and eyes wide with feigned innocence. Although her plans the night before had gone awry, Darcy still intended to seduce Brock one way or another. The fact he wasn’t supposed to leave her offered better odds of success. As if Brock read her mind, he frowned deeply and his brow furrowed. He set her with another stern glare meant to stutter any willful behavior.  

“Shouldn’t you be filled with fear and terror at not knowing how you found yourself this morning?” asked Brock, clearly suggesting that Darcy should have simply fainted when she woke up in the forest.   

“I suppose I should, but I’m not,” Darcy shrugged her shoulders. She reached out to play with the hem of Brock’s shirt and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t push her hands away. She tugged on the shirt to bring him closer. Brock’s body straightened and his muscles tightened. When her hands crept under the shirt in search of skin, he pulled the fabric from her grasp. Assuming he would leave her now and shut the door behind him, Darcy’s eyes widened as he stepped forward and cradled her body against his. Lifting her up, he lay her back firmly on the center of the bed. The bed ropes creaked under his weight as he placed a knee on the edge to balance himself over her. Brock moved back but Darcy wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him in place.

“I’m supposed to be protecting you,” Brock whispered, his voice edging closer to a growl, sending a pleasant shiver down her skin and between her legs. A soft, airy sigh left her lips, tickling his nose. Brock’s breath hitched. He closed his eyes, pressing his nose on her temple but his body tautened as if he would spring away at any moment. Still, he didn’t break away from her. Encouraged, Darcy captured his lips in a kiss.

Although a gentle and uncertain brushing of lips, Darcy’s heart pounded in her chest. Her heart cracked when he did not respond but she attempted another kiss, then another. Under her fingers, she felt Brock’s body tense at each kiss. After the third kiss garnered no response, Darcy pulled away, loosening her hold. As she tried to come up with an appropriate response to the lack of interest, she noticed Brock’s breath coming out in short, shallow gasps and the veins bulging out on his neck. Something between a whine and a growl sounded in the back of his throat.

“ _Brock_ ,” Darcy commanded gently. She would ignore her inhibitions and followed instinct, so, why couldn’t he? Something wavered in his eyes and doubt sprouted in Darcy’s chest, mixing with desire and guilt. She ignored it, choosing to brush another small kiss on Brock’s nose. Warmth and tenderness began to bloom through the doubt and she allowed the giddy joy that Brock always caused to fill her chest. Lust darkened his eyes, clearing the uncertainty. After a long beat, his resolve snapped.  

Brock’s body covered hers and he nipped at her neck. It sent a shock of pleasure down Darcy’s body, urging out a gasp. She turned her head towards his and Brock roughly took her lips in a desperate and wet kiss. Their tongues tangled and Darcy’s hands skimmed along Brock’s skin, over the hard ridges of muscle. He shivered lightly and broke their kiss. A bashful smile turned the corners of Darcy’s mouth when he sat up to shuck off his shirt and boots. Her face and chest flushed under his heated perusal. Stalking his way up her body like a wolf hunting prey, Brock left kisses and nips along her legs and stomach. Yet, she knew she was no unsuspecting deer.

Darcy’s eyes lingered on the pale, puckered scar on his shoulder. She could make out the indentations of where the wolf’s teeth tore into his skin. She traced a finger along the marks and saw his eyes grow almost completely black. A growl hummed in the back of his throat. Darcy let out a giddy laugh as one of his hands ran up her thigh to rest on her hip. One of her hands tangled in his hair, bringing his face in for a hard kiss.

Although not well versed in the art of kissing, Darcy did her best to follow Brock’s tongue. She discovered herself to be quite an enthusiastic student in the matter. In fact, she was so focused on mimicking his lips and tongue, she didn’t notice his hand hovering at the crest of her thighs until he dipped his thumb into her folds. Darcy gasped against his mouth as he tested the slick wetness. When Brock flicked at the bud above her opening, she panted out a higher pitched gasp at the sensation. Delight burst through her body, centering in her gut.

“ _Oh_ , do that again,” Darcy ordered and after a quick kiss to her temple, Brock obliged. His thumb slowly rolled back and forth over her bud. Darcy arched her head back as her muscles clenched. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Darcy tugged Brock in so he lay flush against her. He kept most of his weight on one arm, laying on his side. Darcy wrapped her leg around his hip and buried her face in his neck as little breaths of joy tumbled from her.

As Brock’s pace quickened, Darcy’s desire grew until it ached. One finger slipped slowly into her opening and she moaned. Her hips followed his teasing motion. A thickness pressed against her thigh and she pressed into it, pulling grunts from Brock. She placed a mix of kisses and small bites against the unscarred side of his neck, enjoying the way his moans grew louder. A scorching heat filled Darcy’s body. As it twisted through her, she bit the juncture of Brock’s neck and shoulder again. His thumb rubbed swiftly over her bud and the heat peaked. Pleasure pulsed through Darcy’s body and her teeth ached. Brock shivered, burying his nose at the crown of her head.

When Darcy pulled back for a deep breath, she smiled up at Brock until her eyes found two spots of blood beading up on his shoulder. The indentations of her teeth were visible and she could clearly see where the sharp points of her teeth pierced skin. The surrounding skin shined bright red and she knew it would bruise. With a frown, Darcy sat up and wiped away the blood but more welled up. Her knees curled up against her chest and her shoulders slumped.Brock frowned at her change. He rose and gathered her into his arms.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Darcy admitted, a tight, painful lump forming in her throat.

“You didn’t hurt me,” assured Brock, smoothing little kisses along her cheek and the bridge of her nose. “If I had wanted you to stop, I would have pulled away.”

“You’re bleeding,” Darcy whispered, horrified at herself for the satisfaction that welled up inside her. A strange, possessive emotion tore through her chest. Brock was _hers_. No one else's.

“I’m yours,” Brock promised, whispering in Darcy’s ear as if he read her mind. Her heart caught in her throat. “I’m yours, if you will have me.”  

The horror dispersed when Brock lay a tender kiss on her lips. Her body melted against his, responding well to the gentle touch. As they kissed with leisure, Brock lifted the hem of Darcy’s shift. They broke the kiss only to allow him to lift the fabric over her head and toss it aside. Darcy let out a content sigh when her hot skin molded to his. She gripped his upper arms and nipped at his bottom lip. In response, he cupped her breasts and kissed her neck. His thumbs circled her nipples and heat ran down her spine to settle again in between her thighs.

“ _Brock_ ,” Darcy whined softly. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more, she wanted him closer. Digging her fingers into his arms, Darcy let out another needy call.

“Are you sure?” Brock asked, pulling back and untying his braies. Though his question lacked conviction, Darcy only needed to send a pointed look his way to answer it. She had no intentions of stopping. His heavy, hard member jutted out from his center as Brock quickly rid his braies. It was thick and Darcy’s eyes widened as it pulsed. Knowing the general way of how this was meant to work, Darcy bit her lip as she considered the dynamics. Although she had faith that he would fit inside her, she did have some doubts. Also, she was sure she was meant to be lying down. Instead, Brock settled himself against the head of the bed, legs straight out in front of him. He reached out a hand towards Darcy and she was intrigued.

Darcy followed his suggestion and crawled up his legs. As she straddled him, her bottom settled on his thighs. She fit snugly against him, with his member pressed against her folds. Reaching between them, Darcy delicately ran a finger along his hot member and enjoyed the needy snarl it pulled from Brock.

“You can play with it later,” Brock swore with closed eyes, voice deep and harsh. He lifted his knees so she slid closer to him, his hands gripped on her hips to help guide her into position. Darcy held onto his shoulders to keep her balance, shifting her weight to her knees. A pleased gasp spilled out at the feel of his tip against her opening.

Allowing herself to slowly lower, Darcy’s moans mingled with Brock’s as he filled her. A sharp twinge of pain stopped her descent. Her grip tightened against his shoulders but he smoothed his hands up and down her sides. Sweet words of encouragement filled her ear and he showered sweet kisses on her neck and chest. Slowly, the pain subsided and Darcy continued to lower herself. When Brock was fully nestled inside her, she dragged him closer for a wanton, clumsy tongue kiss.

Darcy lost herself in their kiss, enjoying the way their tongues tangled and even the wet sounds of their smacking lips. Every so often, Darcy teased him by pulling her mouth away but Brock caught her each time, like a wolf toying with his meal. When Brock rocked his hips, she pulled back with a gasp. With his help, she lifted herself up and slammed back down. She slowly repeated this motion a few more times and keened at the feel of his member sliding inside her. Brock bit and sucked on Darcy’s neck, giving her bottom a quick squeeze of encouragement.

Their coupling grew wild and frantic. The room filled with the sounds of their grunts, the creak of the bed ropes and of flesh against flesh. As she soared towards her peak, Darcy howled in ecstasy. She arched her back and scratched her nails down Brock’s biceps. Kisses covered the top of her breasts and she let out a protest when he pulled out of her. Her limbs grew heavy and her body slacked in contentment as satisfaction hummed through her. Vaguely, she noticed being lowered down on her back and her body being covered by hot sinew.

Brock wrapped Darcy’s legs around his hips and balanced above her on his elbows. She happily assisted his change in position when his member slid back into her, tightening her thighs at his fast, hard thrusts. Another peak approached and Darcy croaked a hoarse moan. She gripped his face with both hands and they shared a surprisingly gentle kiss. Brock’s hips stuttered and he hummed into her mouth as wet heat filled her. His pumps slowed until he was spent and he fell slack atop her. They lay in silence, catching their breaths for a long moment.

“Is it always like that?” Darcy purred, body sinking into the mattress. A small yawn escaped and her eyes grew heavy. Although she was more than willing to blame this sluggishness on Brock, she knew that the concoction she drank likely shared responsibility. Her entire body was warm, relaxed and buzzing with the new sensations she went through. The restlessness that normally lingered below her skin disappeared. Peace settled over her. She was whole now, though she’d never realized until this moment that she’d been missing pieces of herself before.

“Hmm?” Brock intoned, paying more attention to nibbling on her ear.

“If it’s always like that, I understand why other ladies find it so hard to keep their virtue,” Darcy said and Brock chuckled. The rumble of his chest vibrated through her body. She wanted to giggle at the sensation but couldn’t find the energy. It grew harder to open her eyes and she inhaled a deep breath of earthy cloves and wood smoke.

“S’never like that. Only with you,” mumbled Brock, sliding out of her with a slight hiss. She whined at the loss but ceased her complaints when he cradled her against his chest. Brock appeared to be held by the same exhaustion that overtook her. They lay on her bed, breathing deeply in unison and enjoying the afterglow. Darcy could not remember ever feeling such tranquility settling inside her chest and somehow knew it echoed through Brock. Although the sun continued to rise, she allowed the sound of his heartbeat to lull her into sleep as it beat alongside hers.


End file.
